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frontispiece — Witchery Ways 

“HIS EARS GREW AS LARGE AS PALM-LEAF FANS” 

See page 20 





Witchery Ways 


By 


Amos R. Wells 



Illustrations by 

L. J. Bridgman 


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PHILADELPHIA 


Henry Altemus Company 


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LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

NOV 8 I8U4 

— Copyrigat Entry 

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CLASS/^ XXc. Nos 

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COPY B. 


Copyright, 1904, 
By Henry Altemus 


PREFACE 


1 HAVE always had a high regard for the 
fairies, with all their kinsfolk, the goblins, 
brownies, gnomes, nymphs, dryads, elfs, 
nixies, pixies, wizards, and even the witches. 
I have always refused to believe that these 
happy fairy friends of ours spend their time 
in nothing but sipping honey-dew and danc- 
ing around toad-stools. It has been a great 
pleasure, therefore, to discover some of the 
more useful operations of the fairy folk, and 
to record in this book their practical pranks. 

These are fairy stories with a purpose. 
“The Reflecting Face” is intended to mirror 
a fault or a virtue of your own. “Cram” 
may teach you to study, and Student William, 
to teach; .ZEsop’s Jackdaw to be honest, and 
“Dr. Bright’s Alarm-clock” to be industrious. 
“The Discerning Hammer” is intended to 
hammer a truth or two into your head, and 
from “The Magic Counter” you may buy 
some notions worth having. With King 
Nirvus you will find out the secret of a soft 

vii 


PREFACE 


bed, and with Tricephalos you will learn how 
to manage men. “ Splatzonderkoff ” will be- 
come, I hope, a word of some significance 
in your vocabulary, and the Propulsive Pen 
may be allowed to do your writing. 

I have a high opinion of my readers, too, 
as well as of the fairies. I believe they will 
be no less pleased with these stories because 
they mean to do more than entertain. But 
I hope they will entertain. At any rate, if 
you go to sleep over this book you may throw 
it away, and I ’ll never say a word ! 

Amos E. Wells. 

Boston. 


viii 


. CONTENTS 


PAGE 


CHAPTER I 

“Eyes and Mouth and Nose and Hands,” . . 15 

CHAPTER II 

The Reflecting Face, 25 

CHAPTER III 

“Cram,” . .37 


CHAPTER IV 

IIow King Niryus Got to Sleep, .... 49 

CHAPTER V 


The Discerning Hammer, 63 

CHAPTER VI 

The Magic Counter, G9 

CHAPTER VII 

Splatzonderkoff, 77 

CHAPTER VIII 

The Wishing-snow, 89 

CHAPTER IX 

Around Jimtown with Columbus, .... 95 


ix 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

CHAPTER X 

The Propulsive Pen, 105 

CHAPTER XI 

The Noville Indicator, Revised Edition, . . 121 

CHAPTER XII 

Dr. Bright’s Alarm-clock, 131 

CHAPTER XIII 

Tricephalos, 145 

CHAPTER XIV 

School-room Witchery, 159 

CHAPTER XV 

Jack and iEsop’s Jackdaw, 167 

CHAPTER XVI 

Fine Weather all the Time, 179 


x 

i 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE / 

“ His ears grew as large as palm-leaf fans,” Frontispiece 
Sue’s reflecting face and the butcher, . . . 29 

The Tutor calls on the Busy Bee, .... 39 

“ The boards came together in a rough bedstead.” . 59 

“ Peter felt his hair begin to rise,” .... 81 

“The queerest bottle Trot had ever seen,” . . . 109 

“ * Give him a good dose of valerian,’ ”... 139 

“ All these Tricephalos presented to the King,” . . 149 


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WITCHERY WAYS 


I 

“EYES AND MOUTH AND NOSE AND 
HANDS ’ ’ 

A /[ OTHER ! Mother ! ’ ’ cried Student 
i Vl William, rushing in from a walk. 

‘ ‘ And what now, my boy ? ’ ’ asked 

his mother. 

‘ ‘ The King ! The princes ! ’ 5 
“What about his Majesty and their Royal 
Highnesses?” 

4 ‘ The King needs a teacher for the princes, 
and wouldn ’t I do, mother ? I Ve studied hard 
and want to be a teacher, and I’m sure we need 
the money.” 

“That we do, sorely, my boy, since your 
poor father died. But the King would never 
choose a laborer’s son like you. Princes’ 
teachers are great folk, my dear young inno- 
cent. ’ ’ 

“Ah, but, Mother darling, the King has a 
new idea. He is to choose his teacher in some 

15 


16 


WITCHERY WAYS 


strange way, and has invited every one to 
come and try for the place; yes, every one. 
And I must go. ’ * 

“Well, it will do no harm, at least. God’s 
blessing go with you, my helpful boy!” 

And so Student William posted off to the 
palace. His brain was all afire with the hope 
of teaching, for he thought the teacher’s call- 
ing the noblest in the world. u To make royal 
young men of those manly little princes ! What 
happiness!” said he to himself as he stoutly 
trudged along. 

The palace-gate was besieged by quite a 
company of applicants of all kinds, old and 
young, solemn and jovial, and as they were 
ushered into the King’s audience-room still 
another company came out, looking exceed- 
ingly crestfallen. From the audience-room 
sounded loud shouts of laughter, and now and 
then, even after they had entered, they heard 
muffled giggling, as if something very comical 
had just happened. 

At one end of the room sat the King on a 
rich throne, and at his feet were the princes, 
three handsome boys, as bright and jolly 
youngsters as could be seen in the kingdom. 
On all sides of the hall were arranged chairs, 


WITCHERY WAYS 


17 


which were full of great ladies and gentlemen 
of the court, and wise, white-wigged members 
of the royal council with their long black 
gowns, and all, for some reason or other, were 
in a state of smothered glee. 

As soon as Student William and the crowd 
of applicants were seated near the throne the 
King remarked quietly : 

“ Gentlemen, I have observed that teachers 
often know enough to teach well, but fail be- 
cause of some slight trouble connected with 
other parts of the body than the brain. And 
so, with your kind permission, before the 
members of my council examine into your 
knowledge, I wish to test you in a more gen- 
eral way, with the aid of my Court Magician. 
The test may not be agreeable, but it will not 
injure you in the least. Do you consent V* 

All nodded their heads with the exception 
of Student William, who, queer young man 
that he was, had been so interested in looking 
at the dear young princes that he had only 
half heard what the King said, and was quite 
confused by the question. 

“Who will be examined first ?” the King 
asked. 

“I,” said a sharp little man, jumping up 

2— Witchery Ways. 


18 


WITCHERY WAYS 


quickly. “I am Professor Seeitall, your Ma- 
jesty,’ ’ and he stepped briskly out before the 
throne, casting shrewd glances at King, 
princes, and court. 

At the King’s nod an imposing old gentle- 
man advanced, with long white hair and 
heard, and long white gown. He carried a 
white staff in his hand, with a stuffed bat on 
the end of it. He was the Court Magician. 
Solemnly he waved his staff over Professor 
Seeitall, while he chanted this rhyme : 

“Eyes and mouth and nose and hands , 

Ears and feet, my charm commands. 

Used too much or not enough, 

Smaller he, or larger puff!” 

. Instantly the court, King, and even the wait- 
ing crowd of applicants hurst into a roar of 
laughter, it was so comical. Professor Seeit- 
all had been conspicuous ever since his en- 
trance for the open-eyed curiosity with which 
he had stared at everything and everybody— 
a bold, impudent stare, which had annoyed the 
ladies of the court not a little, and angered the 
gentlemen. At the waving of the magic wand 
the Professor’s two sharp little eyes at once 
flashed out into great owl’s eyes, three inches 


WITCHERY WAYS 


19 


across at least, which met over his nose and 
reached to his ears, so that the Professor was a 
wonderful object to behold. 

“Ah, my dear Professor Seeitall,” said the 
King, as soon as he could speak for laughing, 
“I’m afraid you are a little too fond of in- 
vestigating things about you to make a good 
teacher. You may go,” and the attendants 
led the astonished fellow away. As he passed 
from the room his eyes returned to their 
natural size. 

But all this time Student William, queer 
young man that he was, was so earnestly en- 
gaged in looking at the princes and trying to 
get an insight into their characters that he 
actually saw nothing whatever of what was 
going on. 

“Who next?” called the King, impatiently, 
as the applicants naturally hesitated to come 
forward. Hereupon a mild-appearing old 
man advanced from among them, and bowed 
before the King. “I am Doctor Eaves- 
dropper, ’ ’ he said, smiling blandly. 

The Court Magician came forward as be- 
fore, and waved his staff three times, chant- 
ing the same powerful rhyme that he had used 
before: 


20 


WITCHERY WAYS 


“Eyes and, mouth and nose and hands , 

Ears and feet , my charm commands . 

Used too much or not enough , 

Smaller be, or larger puff!” 

The wonderful staff had hardly reached the 
floor again before the room rang with renewed 
merriment. Doctor Eavesdropper, while wait- 
ing outside, and even within the audience- 
room, had been listening with exceeding care 
to every word said by any of his competitors, 
and some of their careless remarks he had 
stored up in his mind to use against them, if it 
became necessary. And it was for this rea- 
son, I suppose, that the magic charm acted as 
it did. For his ears, that had been quite small 
before and close to his head, instantly grew as 
large as palm-leaf fans, and flared out on 
either side of his head, in most absurd fashion. 

‘ 1 Dear me ! I ’m afraid there would be no 
such thing as a state secret with you about the 
court, Doctor Eavesdropper, ’ ’ giggled his Ma- 
jesty, and the Doctor was conducted out, his 
ears flapping wildly. 

But all this time Student William, queer 
young man that he was, saw nothing what- 
ever of what was going on. The princes had 


WITCHERY WAYS 


21 


laughed, of course, at Professor SeeitalPs 
weird transformation, and the laugh of the 
youngest had an unpleasant ring which Stu- 
dent William had noticed, and was wonder- 
ing what defect in the lad it indicated, and 
how he might get him to laughing more 
pleasantly. The boy now laughed again in 
the same disagreeable way, and Student Wil- 
liam was quite worried. 

‘ 1 Come ! Another ! ’ 9 the King commanded, 
and Captain Peter Ponderous came forward 
slowly. Captain Ponderous had left the army 
because he really could not endure the fatigue 
of carrying a sword. He thought that he 
might manage to hold a book, as schoolmaster, 
especially if the hours were easy. His hands 
were very white, and he had hired a carriage 
to take him to the palace, though he lived only 
four squares away. 

“Eyes and mouth and nose and hands , 

Ears and feet, my charm commands. 

Used too much or not enough, 

Smaller he, or larger guff!” 

So chanted the wizard again, with a third 
ridiculous result. To the intense delight of 
the assembly, the feet, that Captain Ponderous 


22 


WITCHERY WAYS 


so seldom used, and liis lazy white hands, sud- 
denly shrank till they were no larger than an 
infant’s, and he was carried from the room 
amid the jeers and banterings of the court, 
while the King shouted after him : 

“The princes are too active young fellows 
for a man with such hands and feet to man- 
age, ha ! ha ! ha ! ’ ’ 

But all this time Student William, queer 
young man that he was, saw nothing whatever 
of what was going on. A large fly had settled 
on the forehead of the oldest prince and was 
evidently annoying him, but he was too lazy 
to do anything but twitch his eyebrows. At 
last he made an indolent motion with one hand 
and scared it away. Student William was 
lost in thought. How could he make the old- 
est prince more energetic ! 

Well, so it went on. One after another of 
the applicants was submitted to the strange 
test. Old Mr. Dozy, who had stumbled into 
the room in a sleepy way, his eyes almost shut, 
and did not seem to know half what was going 
on, under the mystic spell lost what eyes he 
had. Professor Timothy Talkative, who had 
kept up a constant chatter with his neighbor 
ever since his entrance, under the charm sud- 


WITCHERY WAYS 


23 


denly developed a monstrous tongue, which 
filled his mouth, and hung down, like a great 
red ribbon, to the floor. Doctor Discipline 
had chanced to notice something about the 
conduct of the princes which he didn’t like, 
and involuntarily clenched his hands, wishing 
that he could give them a sound whipping. 
The marvelous rhyme disclosed his tendencies 
by swelling out his bony hands till they were 
larger than boxing-gloves, and lengthening 
his arms till they could reach the floor. 

But through all of these strange events Stu- 
dent William, queer young man that he was, 
had no eyes or ears or mind for anything but 
the princes, and he was quite startled when the 
King called him, and he saw that he was the 
only one left. He stepped out before the 
throne, made his bow and told his name, with 
his eyes still on the princes, and his thoughts 
still full of them. And when the Court 
Magician waved his staff and chanted his 
rhyme, he stood there unchanged ! 

The King and all the court clapped their 
hands. 

“I have watched you, young man,” said the 
King to our astonished William, “and I have 
noticed that ever since your entrance you 


24 


WITCHERY WAYS 


seemed absorbed in thought of the boys whom 
you hope to teach. I think you love to teach, 
and love children. ’ ’ 

“I do, indeed, your Majesty,” said Student 
William. 

‘ ‘ And that is why this powerful charm had 
no effect upon you. I am satisfied; and now 
let my wise councilors proceed to examine this 
young man, to see whether his brain is well 
stocked for my purpose.” 

It was not long before the councilors had 
learned that Student William’s enthusiasm 
for teaching had not stopped short of study- 
ing, and that his brain was well trained and 
well filled. 

And so it was that Student William became 
schoolmaster in the royal household, and was 
so successful in his teaching that his fame 
spread all over the kingdom, just because his 
“eyes and mouth and nose and hands,” and 
all there was of him, for that matter, was in- 
tensely interested in the work he had set 
himself to do. 


WITCHERY WAYS 


II 


THE REFLECTING FACE 

{ SUPPOSE you do not live in that part of 
the United States where fairy godmothers 
are common. Probably you have never 
seen a fairy in all your life; and if you are 
the kind of girl Sue Clifford was, you had 
better avoid fairies as much as possible, 
or you may have such an awkward ex- 
perience as this of hers which I am about to 
relate. 

If Sue had known that old Charity Arm- 
strong was her fairy godmother, of course 
she would have been more careful; hut how 
should she, when no one knew it but old 
Charity herself? And so it happened that 
when May Farnham and Kate Shaw made 
fun of the poor old woman, Sue, who always 
did what other girls were doing, joined in 
the ridicule. 

Charity Armstrong was hobbling about her 
little front yard as the girls passed, trim- 
ming up her rose-bushes, mumbling, and 

25 


26 


WITCHERY WAYS 


making wry faces, as was her wont; for she 
was a queer old woman. So May and Kate 
began to mumble as they went by, and to 
bobble in imitation of the little bent figure 
in the front yard ; and Sue felt obliged to do 
the same. 

And then it was that old Charity Arm- 
strong looked sharply up from her bushes, 
waved her long shears, and, fixing her 
piercing black eyes on poor Sue— though 
why she singled her out Sue never knew, 
though we know— spoke these terrible words : 
' 4 On you be the curse of the reflecting 
face!” 

Well, Sue laughed as she skipped on, think- 
ing little of it, though somewhat uneasy, and 
soon turned into her own gate. Her mother 
met her at the hall door. “Why, my dear!” 
was her greeting, “I took you for May Farn- 
ham, as you came up the walk; you are get- 
ting her expression exactly. I wish you 
wouldn’t go with her so much. She hasn’t 
the disposition I wish to see in my girl. Be- 
fore you take off your wraps I want you to 
mail this letter for me, and call at the butch- 
er’s after the meat I ordered. He forgot to 
send it.” 


WITCHERY WAYS 


27 


Sue met old Mrs. Chester as she went out. 
Old Mrs. Chester kissed her, saying, “You 
look more like your mother every day, dear 
child; and it’s a sweet way to look!” 

‘ 4 Why, how funny ! ’ ’ exclaimed Sue, laugh- 
ing. “Mother just told me I was growing to 
look like that pert little May Farnliam. You 
can’t both be right.” 

The village postmistress was an odd little 
personage, with small mouth tightly pursed 
up, queer wrinkles over the top of her nose, 
and very sharp and diminutive eyes. Sue 
talked with her a moment as she gave her the 
letter, and then went off to the butcher’s. 
She thought that the friends she met looked 
at her very strangely in passing, but did not 
know why, until, in a small, cracked mirror 
hanging beside the butcher ’s counter, she 
happened to glance at her image. Startled, 
she looked again. Yes, there were the queer 
wrinkles on top of the nose, the pursed-up 
mouth, even the contracted eyes, of Mrs. Sally 
Poindexter, the postmistress. 

It was with the very greatest difficulty that 
Sue could tell her errand, so alarmed was she. 
Sam Prince, the butcher, was a funny fellow, 
somewhat weak-minded, but always good- 


28 


WITCHERY WAYS 


natured and cracking his jokes. He had a 
wide mouth, always distended in a grin, a flat 
nose ever broadened with a smile, and an 
enormous, square double chin. He was bub- 
bling over with merriment that morning, and 
tried to have a little badinage with Sue; hut 
she was too much disturbed for any such 
amusement. 

All the way home Charity Armstrong’s 
words rang in her ears. 4 ‘ Cursed with a re- 
flecting face !” What could that mean! Must 
she look like Mrs. Poindexter all her life! 
Every one she met seemed in the best of 
spirits, and some burst out laughing at sight 
of her; but she was in no mood for jollity. 
Cursed with a reflecting face! She wished 
she hadn’t talked so long with Mrs. Poindex- 
ter. 

“But pshaw!” thought Sue, “what non- 
sense this is! I have too active an imagina- 
tion!” 

Notwithstanding, as soon as she got home 
she ran up to her little room, to look at her* 
self in the mirror. She couldn’t help laugh- 
ing at first, horrible as it was, and though she 
soon began to cry. From the mirror looked 
out at her, not Mrs. Poindexter’s little 



Witchery Ways 

SUE’S REFLECTING FACE AND THE BUTCHER 

29 

























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WITCHERY AY AYS 


31 


pursed-up countenance, but Sam Prince’s 
broad, smiling one, widely grinning mouth, 
laughter-distended nose ; she could even 
see a trace of a double chin! And how 
absurd seemed tears, coming from such a 
face ! 

Here was a terrible thing to happen to a 
pretty little girl, to be compelled to copy in 
her own nice features the expression of every 
one she might meet! She ran downstairs, 
crying as if her heart would break, and threw 
herself into her mother’s lap. '“Oh, Mother! 
Mother! What shall I do!” she cried. 

“Why, my little Sue, what is the matter! 
And why do you make up such a ridiculous 
face!” 

‘ ‘ Oh, Mother, I didn ’t make it up ! It made 
itself up! It’s a reflecting face!” And then 
came the whole strange story. 

Of course, Mrs. Clifford could do nothing. 
She knew that no one but a fairy could make 
a reflecting face, and it’s foolish to oppose a 
fairy. So she held her little bewitched 
daughter in her arms and kissed away her 
tears, and looked lovingly into her face until 
the butcher ’s coarse grin was quite gone. And 
then she sent Sue to the glass to see her 


32 


WITCHERY WAYS 


mother’s sweet smile and radiant eyes re- 
flected from its truthful surface. 

And now it would require a volume to tell 
the many grotesque incidents that filled Sue ’s 
life from that time. Without at all desiring 
it, she obtained, of course, a reputation as a 
perfect mimic. Many were the enemies she 
made by this unconscious imitation. People 
could not understand her frequent and re- 
markable changes of countenance. Some 
thought her simple-minded; others believed 
her crazy. A few mischievous girls delighted 
in tormenting her, bringing her suddenly to 
see some one of peculiar expression, that they 
might watch its likeness in her reflecting face. 

More and more, as she grew accustomed to 
her remarkable condition, she came to rely on 
her mother to restore her face to a beautiful 
appearance, and often would run crying home 
with some strangely transformed counte- 
nance, to get her pretty features back in her 
mother’s arms. 

But, unluckily, it happened one day that 
her mother received bad news. Her little 
niece, in a distant town, was very sick, and 
she must set off at once to take care of her. 
She did not dare expose Sue to the contagion 


WITCHERY WAYS 


33 


of the disease, and did not know where to 
leave her; for they two made np the whole 
family. 

“Well, Mother, let me stay with Alice 
Stevenson, ” said Sue. “I know they’ll be 
glad to have me. I ’ll go and ask them. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Clifford knew Mrs. Stevenson to be a 
kind, good woman ; and the matter was finally 
arranged. 

But Mrs. Clifford did not know Alice, or 
she would have hesitated long. This young 
lady was a dangerous person for a little girl 
with a reflecting face to see very much. She 
had a turned-up nose, which would not have 
been so bad if her mind were not always in 
sympathy with it, ridiculing every one. She 
had sharp little eyes, which would not have 
been so bad if her temper had not been sharp 
to correspond. She had big ears, which 
would have done no harm if she had not been 
so fond of putting them in the way of con- 
versation she was not intended to hear. She 
had an ugly little mouth, whose appearance 
was not half so unpleasant as were the spite- 
ful remarks which came out of it. 

You can guess what happened. Thrown 
for that month into constant companionship 

3— Witchery Ways. 


34 


WITCHERY WAYS 


with such a girl, poor Sue’s reflecting face 
got into a shocking state. It became more 
like Alice’s than ever was twin sister’s. Sue’s 
straight little nose became pert and upstart. 
Her soft, brown eyes learned to snap sharply. 
Her sweet lips took on that ugly curve, and 
even her dainty ears seemed growing promi- 
nent and coarse. 

At first Sue worried a little over the 
change, and grieved before the mirror; but 
she consoled herself with the thought that 
when her mother came home she could get her 
pretty looks all back again, and in a few days 
became so used to Alice’s face that she forgot 
she ever had a different one. 

In a month, then, Mrs. Clifford returned 
very pale and sad, and dressed in black. But 
she grew sadder still when she saw Sue’s 
transformed countenance. 

1 1 Never mind, Mother dear,” said Sue, 
kissing her. “It will soon wear off when I 
look at your sweet face a little while.” 

But, alas, it did not. To Sue’s dismay, her 
reflecting face seemed fixed at last, and into 
a most ugly shape. Running eagerly to her 
mirror, after that first hour with her mother, 
she saw still the fretful mouth, the sharp eyes, 


WITCHERY WAYS 


35 


the pert nose. Must she go through life now 
looking like that ugly-tempered girl? How 
Sue cried, and how Sue’s mother cried, and 
all in vain ! The reflecting face would reflect 
no longer. 

Well, that was the best thing that could 
have happened to Sue, after all. From that 
sad day she stayed home a great deal and was 
most of the time with her mother, imitating 
her pretty ways and looking longingly into 
her face. After a good many weeks she 
thought that her face seemed growing a little 
bit more gentle, and after a good many more 
she was sure of it. Her former face was 
coming hack to her. The very thought made 
her so happy that she filled the whole house 
with song, and danced about her work. 

It took a long time, and Sue was many 
months away from all the places where she 
might fall in with the girl who had wrought 
the mischief ; but her patience was rewarded 
at last. For one morning old Mrs. Chester 
came cheerily in, as she had on that first un- 
lucky day, and said, as she took Sue’s face 
between her hands and kissed it: “You are 
the image of your mother, my dear girl ; and 
it ’s a sweet way to look. ’ ’ 




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WITCHERY WAYS 


III 


“CRAM” 

O NCE— and it was upon a time, of course 
— there lived a king who had one 
daughter and two sons. The King 
did not believe in the education of girls, but 
for the instruction of the princes he had one 
Professor-in-Chief, with a staff of one, who 
was called a Tutor. 

The Professor-in-Chief took for his share 
of the pupils the bright Prince Quickly, who 
learned everything by reading it over once. 
The Tutor, however, was compelled to teach 
Prince Slowboy, who was too tired to study, 
and did not want to study, and saw no use in 
studying, and could not remember anyway, 
so there! Though very much younger than 
the Professor-in-Chief, the Tutor was the 
wiser of the two ; and yet the wisest man in 
the world cannot teach a youngster who will 
not learn. I know, for I have tried it. 

Because Prince Slowboy would not learn, 
both the King and the Professor-in-Chief con- 

37 


38 


WITCHERY WAYS 


stantly found fault with the Tutor, as if he 
were to blame ! The poor young man was in 
the palace-garden one day, moaning over 
his sad lot, when he bethought him of 
something his old nurse had taught him, 
of which he was to make use only when in 
great trouble. 

So the Tutor did as his old nurse had told 
him. He picked a leaf of tansy, and a black- 
and-yellow. pansy, and he found a four-leaved 
clover underneath a maple-tree, and with 
these three in his right hand he knocked with 
all his might and main upon the hollow oak 
where dwelt the Busy Bee. *The Busy Bee 
was a fairy, who came out immediately upon 
the application of this charm, and sang: 

“I come at the call of the symbols three. 

What does the Tutor want with me?” 

Now, though the Tutor was a very bright 
young man, he had never before this found 
any use for poetry, and not a rhyme came into 
his head. In plain and vigorous prose, there- 
fore, he told his woes. 

11 1 am set to teach Prince Slowboy, who 
is always too tired to study, and does not want 
to study, and sees no good in studying, and 



Witchery Ways 

THE TUTOR CALLS ON THE BUSY BEE 

39 




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WITCHERY WAYS 


41 


cannot remember anyway, so there ! I work 
hard, and I think I know as much as the Pro- 
f essor-in-Chief ; but he teaches Prince Quickly, 
who learns everything by reading it over 
once. So he gets all the praise, and I get all 
the blame. ’ 9 

The Busy Bee was very indignant and 
sang: 

“Fie upon the lazy wight ! 

Rub the books upon his head , 

Leaf by leaf , from left to right ; 

Thus our fairy-books are read.” 

Then she flew back into the hollow oak. 

The Tutor considered this decidedly ri- 
diculous advice ; but that very afternoon 
Prince Slowboy was so provokingly stupid 
over his geography lesson that really nothing 
remained untried except the fairy charm. So 
the Tutor solemnly and carefully rubbed the 
three pages of that day’s lesson over the 
prince’s head from left to right, the boy 
meanwhile looking somewhat frightened and 
astonished, as was natural, to be sure. Then 
the Tutor began his questions again, and 
found to his delight that Prince Slowboy had 
a perfect lesson. He knew all the capitals 


42 


WITCHERY WAYS 


and principal cities, and could bound every- 
thing and tell its products. 

Progress was easy and pleasant from that 
moment. Latin, history, arithmetic, gram- 
mar— it was all play to Prince Slowboy now. 
Four times the ordinary lessons were learned 
in a wonderfully short time. Newspapers were 
read, and a vast amount of general informa- 
tion was picked up from the magazines, all 
in this expeditious manner. Small wonder 
that when the King next came to examine his 
two sons he found Prince Slowboy as much in 
advance of his brother as he had before been 
behind him. Tire chagrin and astonishment 
of the Professor-in-Chief can hardly be im- 
agined. He redoubled his efforts, and still 
the Tutor ’s marvelous pupil , grew rapidly 
wiser than his own. 

At length he decided to be present, unseen, 
at one of Prince Slowboy ’s recitations, that 
he might gain some insight into the new meth- 
ods which had been so strangely successful. 
Thus he learned the fairy charm, and hurried 
off in great glee to tell the King about it. 

“And now, your Majesty,” said he, with a 
chuckle, “let us bring that young pedagogue 
to confusion. Allow me to use his charm 


WITCHERY WAYS 


43 


most vigorously upon Prince Quickly for a 
few hours, and then call the boys up for ex- 
amination. When we have exposed the 
Tutor we may well dismiss him, as I shall then 
be able myself to care for the two. ’ ’ 

The King did not quite like it, but he agreed 
to the program of the Professor-in-Chief, 
and in a few hours sent for the boys and 
their teachers, as he often did, to test their 
progress. It was to be observed that the 
Professor-in-Chief was very warm and ap- 
peared fatigued, his arms hanging quite 
limp, while Prince Quickly ’s hair was in a 
shockingly confused state, and his books sadly 
crumpled. Both, however, seemed confident 
and pleased. 

Then the King began to ask questions. But 
what had happened ? Prince Slowboy replied 
more readily than ever before, but Prince 
Quickly appeared to have forgotten every- 
thing ! He could not decline mensa , he could 
not parse a common noun, he could not give 
the multiplication table of tens, he did not 
know where London is. He was in an alarm- 
ing state of ignorance. 

4 ‘ What have you done to him?” cried the 
King in a fury, and dismissed the Professor- 


44 


WITCHERY WAYS 


in-Chief on the spot, while the Tutor was pro- 
moted to his place with double salary. 

‘ ‘ What did I do, to be sure ? 9 9 muttered the 
old man, as he crept away. “And why did 
not the charm work as well in my hands as in 
his V 9 After long thought the truth suddenly 
flashed upon him. He had rubbed in the 
wrong direction. Rubbing from right to left 
had reversed the charm, and had drawn out 
of poor Prince Quickly ’s brain all the learn- 
ing it had ever contained. Having come to 
this opinion, he did not despair, but watched 
his chance. 

The education of the princes, under the new 
Professor-in-Chief, went on charmingly, of 
course. Prince Slowboy had gained such a 
start, through the blundering application of 
the charm to his brother’s head, that he al- 
ways kept a little in advance of him, though 
both were becoming veritable sages. The 
King was so well satisfied that for some weeks 
he had not examined the boys at all. 

Such was the condition of affairs when the 
princes, after a long ramble in the woods one 
hot day, lay down and fell sound asleep. 
They were all alone. Not quite alone, how- 
ever. Soon, from behind a large tree-trunk 


WITCHERY WAYS 


45 


peeped a great pair of spectacles, and behind 
them the sparkling eyes of the old Professor- 
in-Chief. On his back he carried an enor- 
mous bundle of books. These unfastening, he 
sat down back of the two boys as they lay on 
the ground, and softly and noiselessly, with 
wonderful swiftness and patience, rubbed 
page after page and volume after volume 
over the heads of both princes, and in the 
wrong direction. This done, with a chuckle 
he gathered up his books and set off to the 
King’s palace. 

1 ‘ Your Majesty,” said he to the King, when 
admitted after some difficulty, “I fear you are 
mistaken in regard to the ability of the young 
man who occupies at present the position of 
Professor-in-Chief. His methods are ques- 
tionable; his results are therefore question- 
able. May I inquire how recently you have 
examined the princes?” 

And when the King confessed that it was 
now some weeks since he had inquired into 
their progress, the old man continued: 

1 ‘ Then I advise you to investigate the mat- 
ter at once. Call the young man and his 
pupils, and if everything is well, I will be off 
and never trouble you again.” 


46 


WITCHERY WAYS 


The King, thought this a very easy and 
reasonable way of getting rid of the old 
gentleman, and so he sent for the new Profes- 
sor-in-Chief and for the princes, who had just 
returned, and proceeded at once to ask ques- 
tions. 

Well, the result may be conjectured. Every 
trace of knowledge seemed to have vanished 
from the boys* minds. Indeed, they could 
scarcely read. Startled more and more, the 
King plied them with every imaginable ques- 
tion. To their own grief as well as his, they 
found themselves absolutely ignorant. 

“ Leave the palace !” shouted the King to 
their dismayed teacher. “And, my good sir, 
be pleased to resume your former position as 
Professor-in-Chief, and see what you can do 
for my poor sons, if their minds are not ut- 
terly ruined.” 

“Your Majesty,” said the old gentleman, 
“I will accept my former position on condi- 
tion that this young man be retained in your 
employment, and be given equal honor with 
myself. We may both be called Professors, 
and there need be no Professor-in-Chief. I 
have learned to admire his ability, and regret 
my unfairness in forcing him to teach only 


WITCHERY WAYS 


47 


the more stupid of your sons We have both 
been using magic, and I propose that we lay 
it aside from this moment, and proceed on 
old-fashioned principles. ’ ’ 

“I agree, my dear sir,” cordially assented 
the former Tutor, “for I fear that this magic 
learning is untrustworthy. To be sure, it 
comes very quickly, but it vanishes as easily, 
I perceive. We have now an opportunity to 
make a fresh and fair start with the princes, 
for their knowledge is equal, since now they 
both know nothing. I promise your Majesty 
that though their future progress may be 
slower than the past, it will be more certain 
and satisfactory.” 

With this the two Professors, the young 
one and the old, retired from the King’s pres- 
ence to consult, and form plans together for 
the education of the princes. Having the 
rare opportunity of beginning again at the 
start after so much experience with the same 
boys, they thought that something wonderful 
should be accomplished in the teacher’s art. 
And so it was; for the harmonious and wise 
plans of the two Professors, working slowly 
but surely for many years, gave the world two 
princes whose marvelous intelligence and wis- 


48 


WITCHERY WAYS 


dom were the wonder, not only of the king- 
dom over which they came to reign jointly, 
but of all men. 

One word to my lazy readers, and I am 
done. Doubtless the fairy charm of which I 
have told you may appear so tempting on the 
occasion of your next hard lesson that you 
will wish to try it on yourself, undismayed by 
its sad results in the case of the princes. But 
do not venture. For everything depends on 
moving the book from left to right, but 
whether it is from left to right of the book, or 
from the left to the right of the scholar or of 
the teacher, I never could learn. Therefore, 
in ignorantly operating on yourselves, you 
might draw from your heads all you already 
know, and that would be a pity. 


WITCHERY WAYS 


IV 


HOW KING NIRVUS GOT TO 
SLEEP 

K ING NIRVUS was a tall, thin man, who 
did not know how to take things easy. 
He was worn almost to a shadow by 
the cares of state. Oh, how he worried over 
the discontent in his realm, over the quarrels 
of parties, and the opposition of rulers ! 
And not only through the livelong day did 
he suffer. These worries must even haunt 
his pillows, and destroy his hard-earned 
rest. 

The court physicians did the best they 
knew. They gave him all sorts of drugs, 
regulated his diet, prescribed amusements, 
but all in vain. The poor king tossed and 
fretted through the sleepless nights, and was 
nearly crazy with longings for slumber. 

He stormed so fiercely at the luckless court 
physicians that one morning, after a par- 
ticularly wide-awake night, one of them ven- 
tured to say, “ Your Majesty, I am at my wits’ 

4— Witchery Ways. AQ 


50 


WITCHERY WAYS 


end. I have only one thing left. I have 
never dared mention it, since it is so far from 
the regular line of practice. In a neighbor- 
ing province is an old man who has gone far, 
they say, in mysterious arts. I believe that 
he claims to possess a bed which will bring 
slumber to the most wakeful. If it please 
you, sir— ” 

“I’ll try it!” cried the King, fairly trem- 
bling with eagerness. “And let us start off 
at once, at once! Another such night as the 
last will be the death of me ! Fetch instantly 
the royal coach ! ’ ’ 

What a king commands is soon done. 
There’s that much satisfaction for him, any- 
way, poor fellow! So they set off at once. 
This was early in the morning, but they had 
to ride and ride all day at a brisk pace, and 
then arrived at the sage’s house only as the 
sun was near its setting. Poor King Nirvus 
was in such a state of eagerness and weari- 
ness and anxiety, that he could hardly enter 
the house, though supported by an earl on 
either side. 

The wise old man whose brain had con- 
trived the magic bed came bowing out to meet 
him. His name was Doctor Komuncentz. 


WITCHERY WAYS 


51 


“At once! At once!” cried King Nir- 
vns impatiently, as soon as his errand was 
made known. “Show me the bed at once! 
I am going insane for lack of sleep!” And 
truly the poor, pale man was in a dreadful 
state. 

“There is one condition, your Majesty,” 
said Doctor Komuncentz, “and only one. It 
is necessary for the working of the charm that 
you go to the magic bed along the passage- 
way into which that door opens, straight along 
until you reach the bed,— and all without at- 
tendants. ’ ’ 

“Well, well ! I care not, good Doctor. In- 
deed, I shall be glad to he by myself a 
while. If only I can sleep ! Open the door at 
once ! ’ ’ 

So Doctor Komuncentz opened a richly 
carved door, and let the King into a low, dark 
passageway. Immediately the door was 
closed behind him. The King was alone. 
Quickly he groped his way along a gloomy 
corridor, coming out in a small room which 
he scanned with an eager glance. The ex- 
pected bed was not there. The room was 
empty, save that just in front of a door on 
the other side stood a saw-horse, with a log 


52 


WITCHERY WAYS 


of wood upon it. Against this log rested a 
saw, and on the log the King, as he drew 
nearer, read a placard : ‘ ‘ Saw me. ’ ’ 

Impatiently King Nirvus tried to push the 
log aside, but it was not to be moved. He 
lifted and tugged with all his might, hut it 
would not budge. “That is strange !” he 
muttered. ‘ ‘ I must he weaker than I 
thought ! ’ 9 He groped his way back through 
the dark passage, to find the doctor and scold 
him for his carelessness. The great carved 
door was locked fast. No push of his could 
move it, and no sound reach an ear on the' 
other side, though he screamed angrily till he 
was hoarse. 

“How stupid !” laughed King Nirvus at 
length. “I will climb over the log, and go 
on. ’ 9 But when he came to the log again and 
tried to climb over it, lo ! the log rose from the 
saw-horse as the King’s leg went up to step 
over it, and settled again as the King sprang 
back in amazement ! 

“Evidently a magic log!” said King Nir- 
vus. “I may as well obey directions.” So 
he took up the saw and went manfully to 
work, as the placard bade him. And though 
a sawyer would have laughed heartily at the 


WITCHERY WAYS 


53 


performance, yet, for a man who had never 
tried it before, he did very well. 

As the log fell apart, cut into three lengths, 
behold, the saw-horse disappeared, and the 
door before it sprang open! King Nirvus 
walked quickly through it. He heard a 
thumping behind, and turned to see the sticks 
of wood he had just cut hopping smartly 
along after him. 

“ Truly another prodigy / ’ remarked the 
King. “My friend the doctor is quite an in- 
genious wizard. ’ ’ 

This second room was empty, also, except 
that in the center of the floor lay a bright, new 
ax. Another door was opposite, toward 
which the King walked quickly, being anxious 
by this time for a sight of the promised bed. 
But as he neared the ax the three sticks of 
wood ranged themselves in front of him, and 
upon their freshly cut edges the King read 
these words : ‘ ‘ Chop me!” 

“Strange, indeed,” said the King, “and 
very impudent. I’ve a mind to go back!” 
And he started toward the door he had just 
left. But the three sticks of wood leaped be- 
fore him again in an instant, plainly bent on 
being chopped. So the King gave it up. With 


54 


WITCHERY WAYS 


an impatient grunt lie picked up the ax, swung 
it over his head, and chopped the sticks into 
tine pieces, at the imminent risk of chopping 
off his royal toes. 

King Nirvus gave a sigh of relief when the 
task was done, and started toward the oppo- 
site door. Hearing a mighty clatter behind 
him, he turned again, and saw a queer sight. 
Each little stick had become a board, nicely 
planed, and the entire company were hopping 
along behind him ! “ Pro—digious !” cried his 
Majesty. “Doctor Komuncentz is a genius !” 

The next door opened easily, and the King 
found himself in precisely such a room as he 
had left. The room seemed perfectly empty, 
but as the King crossed it, to try a door which 
he saw opposite, there flew into his face a 
great white chicken, crying loudly, “Catch 
me! Catch me!” Every move the poor 
King made to leave the room was frustrated 
by the obstinate fowl, who kept flying at him, 
excitedly demanding to be caught. 

“Ah, I will catch you!” roared the King in 
a rage, and he rushed at her. But she dodged 
him, and around and around they ran, the 
chicken clucking frantically, and King Nirvus 
puffing and mad. Such a race as she led him ! 


WITCHERY WAYS 


55 


At last, when he was about to give it up, being 
covered with perspiration and quite worn out, 
the provoking fowl settled quietly down in a 
corner. 

“Now I’ll teach you to play your pranks 
on me!” cried the King exultingly, as he 
seized her, and started to wring her neck. 
But he turned and twisted and screwed, and 
all in vain, for the neck would not come off. 
After each turn the fowl looked up and 
winked. 

“Now,” said she at last, “if you are 
through with that , pick me!” 

King Nirvus was becoming accustomed to 
marvels, and so, as two empty cloth cases, 
one large, one small, settled down— from 
nowhere— near him, he set to work obedi- 
ently, plucking feathers from the chicken’s 
breast. He plucked out great handfuls, one 
after the other, putting them into the cases, 
and it seemed to make no difference whatever 
to the chicken. Fresh feathers instantly cov- 
ered her breast. As soon as the cases were 
full the openings closed up of their own ac- 
cord, and the king let the chicken loose with a 
sigh of relief. 

“Now you may go on!” said the chicken. 


56 


WITCHERY WAYS 


So on he went, the two cases of feathers 
rolling after, followed by the clattering 
boards. 

The King found the next door already 
open, and, passing through it, stepped sud- 
denly out of the house. He was in a court- 
yard open to the sky, surrounded on three 
sides by tall blank walls, and on the fourth 
side by a high stone fence. The ground was 
closely covered with cotton plants, growing 
luxuriantly, their tops snowy with great white 
bolls of cotton. In the middle on a support 
was a sign: “Pick me!” King Nirvus had 
learned by this time to obey all signs, as likely 
to be the quickest way out of his trouble, so 
he set to work filling with cotton three 
enormous baskets which he saw in one corner. 

He worked hard, and was very weary in- 
deed when the task was done. Just as he 
threw the last handful into the last basket he 
noticed on the basket’s side these words, 
which certainly had not been there before: 
“Throw me over the wall!” 

“A foolish proceeding certainly,” said the 
King , 4 ‘ but over you go ! ” 

He could hardly manage it, but succeeded 
by vigorous efforts in tossing the baskets over 


WITCHERY WAYS 


57 


the high stone fence. Precisely as the last 
basket went crashing over, there sprang from 
the center of the wall a crank with a handle, 
and a card tied to it which read : ‘ 6 Turn me!” 

‘ ‘ This is becoming decidedly interesting, ’ ’ 
said the King, and set to work turning vigor- 
ously, wondering what would happen next. 

What did happen was certainly strange. 
As he turned, a crack appeared in the wall at 
the base, and through the crack came slowly a 
cotton sheet, tine and new, and folded itself 
up at the King’s feet! Then another sheet 
worked its way in, followed by a pillow-case 
and two counterpanes. Finally the handle 
came off, and the crack closed up. This King 
Nirvus accepted as a signal that his work was 
completed, and very glad he was of it, for the 
grinding had been far from easy. His back 
ached, and his weariness, if possible, was 
greater than ever. 

There appeared a little open doorway in 
the stone wall. The King had not noticed it 
before. Possibly it had not been there. He 
was almost afraid to enter, fearing some new 
task, but enter he did, with boards, feathers, 
sheets, and coverlets tumbling along behind. 
He found himself in a long, dark passage- 


58 


WITCHERY WAYS 


way like the first, and at the end another 
vacant room. Nothing at all in it. 

But as the King looked around for the 
magic bed, almost ready to fall on the floor, so 
tired was he, behold, the boards came together 
in a rough bedstead in the middle of the floor ; 
on it the large feather-case plumped down; 
the small bag, which had donned the pillow- 
case, jumped on top of the first; the sheets 
spread themselves, and over the whole flew 
the counterpanes, on the topmost one of which 
appeared the legend : ‘ ‘ Good-night ! ’ ’ King 

Nirvus had made the magic bed! 

‘ 4 Good-night ! ’ ’ The King needed no further 
invitation. His clothes were off in an instant, 
his body laid in the coarse sheets, his head on 
the coarse pillow, and he was sleeping as he 
had not slept since his happy boyhood! He 
slept all night, and all the next morning. Pie 
was making up for his lost time. It was high 
noon when he awoke, feeling like a new man. 

Doctor Komuncentz stood by the bedside, a 
jolly smile on his face, as the King opened 
his eyes. 

1 ‘Where am I?” cried the King, through 
whose brain flitted a confused remembrance 
of hopping boards, talking hens, and mys- 



Witchery Ways 

“THE BOARDS CAME TOGETHER IN A ROUGH BEDSTEAD” 

59 






WITCHERY WAYS 


61 


terious cranks. “Where am I! Oh, yes! In 
the magic bed! Doctor Komuncentz, come 
with me, and I’ll make yon court physician. 
You alone. I’ll send the rest away. I can’t 
do without you. ’ ’ 

“Oh, I could never think of it, your Ma- 
jesty,” said Doctor Komuncentz. “You 
surely do not need me to tell you every night 
to take some exercise before you go to bed!” 

“Well,” said the King, laughing heartily 
at the thought of the chicken, the log, and the 
crank, “your method of prescribing is cer- 
tainly unique. Do you know, Doctor, I do not 
believe you are a wizard at all, but only a 
very sensible old man? In that case you 
would indeed be out of place in my court. I 
think I will take just one more nap, and then 
get up. I have surely found a cure for my 
sleeplessness.” With these words the King 
turned over, and fell to snoring. 

Thus it was that King Nirvus learned how 
to get to sleep. 





WITCHERY WAYS 


Y 


THE DISCERNING HAMMER 

T HE King who possessed the Discerning 
Hammer was very much troubled. His 
feet were so tender that only such shoes 
as the magic hammer made were endurable 
to him, and his old shoemaker had died. Now, 
the Discerning Hammer would not permit 
Tom, Dick, and Harry to use it. It was as 
much as a man’s life was worth to handle it 
without its consent. 

The King took the Discerning Hammer to 
the most fashionable shoemaker in the city, 
and said, “Mr. Kid, if you will make me a 
pair of shoes with this hammer, you shall 
have double pay. But the shoes must be a 
perfect fit.” 

“Never fear, your Majesty,” said Mr. Kid, 
with confidence. 

But the next day Mr. Kid came before the 
throne with a very black eye, and said, as he 
laid the hammer at the King’s feet (which 
showed a small hole in the toe of each shoe), 

63 


64 


WITCHERY WAYS 


“Not for ten times my pay, sire, would I use 
your Majesty’s hammer another hour. When- 
ever I took it in my hands it flew up and 
struck me in the eye. I am almost blinded 
by it.” 

The King then took the Discerning Ham- 
mer to the man who made more shoes than 
all the other shoemakers in the city put to- 
gether, and said: “Mr. Morocco, if you will 
make me a pair of boots with this hammer, 
you shall have ten times your usual pay. But 
the shoes must be a perfect fit.” 

“Never fear, your Majesty,” said the shoe- 
maker, boldly. 

But in a few hours Mr. Morocco appeared 
in the audience-chamber very crestfallen, and 
muttered, as he laid the hammer at the feet of 
the King (which now looked out through 
much larger holes in the shoes) : “Not for one 
hundred times my pay, sire, would I use your 
Majesty’s hammer again. Whenever I tried 
to use it, it stuck fast to the leather as if of a 
j)iece with it. You must excuse me, your Ma- 
jesty.” 

Then the King took the Discerning Ham- 
mer to the most active exporter of boots in 
the country, and said: “Mr. Calfskin, if you 


WITCHERY WAYS 


65 


will make me a pair of shoes with this ham- 
mer, you shall have one hundred times your 
usual pay. But the shoes must be a perfect 
lit. ? ’ 

“Never fear, your Majesty,” was the un- 
hesitating reply; “you shall have the shoes 
to-morrow. ’ ’ 

The morrow, however, brought Mr. Calf- 
skin, with a pale face, but no shoes. Said he, 
as he laid the hammer very carefully at the 
King’s feet (covered now with but the tat- 
tered shreds of shoes) : “Not for a million 
times my pay, sire, would I attempt again to 
use your Majesty’s hammer. Some witchery 
about it greatly vexed me in my work. Now 
it would weigh so much that I could barely 
lift it, and of a sudden it would fly out of my 
hand for very lightness. Now its handle 
would be straight, and anon bent like a ser- 
pent. Its face would change in an instant 
from flat and square to round and spherical. 
But, notwithstanding, I worked all night, and 
had nearly finished a handsome pair of shoes. 
I was giving a few blows with the hammer 
to end the job, when it suddenly got a sharp 
edge, and cut the shoe in two. Do not ask 
me to make another attempt, your Majesty.” 

5 — Witchery Ways. 


66 


WITCHERY WAYS 


The King tried other shoes in vain. No 
store in the kingdom could furnish slipper, 
shoe, or boot that did not torture him, after 
wearing the work of the magic hammer. He 
tried going barefoot, but that hurt, too. In 
despair, he offered a large reward to any 
shoemaker who should tame the tricky ham- 
mer and make him some shoes with it, but the 
shoemakers were afraid to try. 

There lived in an obscure village of the 
kingdom a cobbler, Crispin Cowhide, who was 
a dear old man, and loved all the world. He 
had a large family which he found it hard to 
support, since the village had several smart, 
young, fashionable shoemakers, who got the 
greater part of the trade. But he did not 
worry, and worked steadily, with a cheery 
face. The news of the King’s trouble was 
long in reaching that obscure village, but 
when it came Crispin was very sorry for the 
King. To think that one who had a whole 
kingdom to plague him should have to worry 
about shoes as well! So he set out’ bravely 
for the King’s palace, promising that he 
would hurry home as soon as might be to half- 
sole a neighbor’s boots. 

The King laughed at first at old Crispin, 


WITCHERY WAYS 


67 


and was for turning him out of the room. 
Truly, how should he succeed where the ablest 
of his trade had failed? But as the King 
turned away from the old cobbler he stubbed 
his toe, which reminded him of his plight, and 
urged him to miss no chance, however un- 
promising. So he gave the cobbler the Dis- 
cerning Hammer. 

And whether it was the loving, humble 
spirit of the man I do not know, but never did 
hammer work so well before. Almost with- 
out the cobbler’s will it flew— became awl, 
needle and wax-end, knife, scraper and ham- 
mer, at need; punched and pounded, cut and 
polished, as was fitting ; and made, in a mar- 
velously short time, the finest and most com- 
fortable pair of shoes the King had ever 
worn. 

So the King gave old Crispin Cowhide the 
promised reward, and made him his court 
shoemaker. The cobbler, with his large 
family, moved to the city, and the blessings of 
the whole village went with him. 






























































WITCHERY WAYS 


YI 


THE MAGIC COUNTER 

O LD Mr. Wideawake, who kept the dry- 
goods store in our village, had great 
difficulty in the matter of clerks. It 
required a large part of his time to oversee 
them, set right their blunders, prompt their 
slowness, and guard against their dishonesty. 
For these and other causes he had dismissed 
many. 

One day he was lamenting this trouble to 
the learned village doctor. 

“Why,” said the doctor, “you need spend 
no more time in watching your clerks. I can 
give you something which will test them. 

“Now, Mr. Wideawake,” said he, giving 
him a flask, “this is a very wonderful varnish. 
Paint your counter with it to-night. It will 
dry instantly. Then note the effect on your 
clerk in the morning. ’ 1 

So that night, after his clerk had gone 
home, old Mr. Wideawake carefully spread 
the mystic varnish over all parts of the 

69 


70 


WITCHERY WAYS 


counter. It dried instantly, and the counter 
looked no different. 

Now the clerk, whose name was Gilbert 
Guzzler, stayed up rather late that night at a 
wine-party, and therefore it was with a head 
not at all of the clearest that he took his place 
at the counter the next morning. But, 
though he knew he was dizzy, he was totally 
unprepared for the antics of the counter. 

The first time he threw a bolt of cloth upon 
it the counter seemed to sink down a foot or 
two, springing suddenly back. As he mea- 
sured off three yards the counter moved in 
waves, so that he had the greatest difficulty in 
handling the cloth. His yard-stick, too, 
squirmed whenever it touched the counter, 
and twisted nearly double. 

Gilbert Guzzler was horror-stricken, espe- 
cially when he saw that his customer per- 
ceived nothing of the strange performance. 
The unfortunate clerk believed that he must 
be growing crazy. At noon he took a little 
brandy to steady his nerves. In the after- 
noon, however, the counter was still more ec- 
centric in its movements, curling and twitch- 
ing and sinking until Gilbert felt as seasick 
as the worst storm at sea would make him. 


WITCHERY WAYS 


71 


That night, in the company of some jolly 
fellows, he quite forgot his trials, but the fol- 
lowing day was a wilder one than the first. 
What a witch’s dance the counter did lead 
him, to be sure ! So it went on, until in a few 
days Mr. Guzzler resigned his situation. 

His place in Mr. Wideawake’s store was 
taken by a young man named Edward Easy, 
whose temper was decidedly indolent. He 
also had trouble with the counter. With 
whatever part of it he had to do, the varnish 
there seemed to soften and stick to every 
thing laid upon it. Mr. Easy was naturally 
slow, and, with the counter holding in this 
fashion all the ribbon and calico and wrap- 
ping-paper, it took him a marvelously long 
time to do up a bundle. 

Soon the scissors caught the counter’s ob- 
stinacy and would hardly open or close. The 
yard-stick grew heavy as lead. The twine re- 
fused to unwind. To be sure, the luckless 
clerk discovered that if he moved briskly none 
of these things occurred ; the varnish re- 
mained hard, the scissors worked easily, the 
twine unwound readily, and the yard-stick 
was light. But this state of affairs required 
of Mr. Edward Easy an amount of exertion 


72 


WITCHERY WAYS 


quite distasteful to him, and he soon gave up 
his place and went off to seek his fortune in 
the city. 

His successor was Mr. William Witty. Mr. 
Witty was quite lively and energetic, hut had 
such an opinion of himself as facts hardly 
warranted, and a boundless supply of im- 
pudence. The counter, however, was equal to 
his case. 

The first fidgety old woman who came in 
Mr. William Witty began to banter in an 
ugly way, which he thought very smart. Sud- 
denly the counter doubled up and boxed 
him on the ear, quite unnoticed by the 
customer, who wondered at his subdued ex- 
pression. 

An hour later he was flirting with a pretty 
girl who had come in after some pink ribbon, 
and not at all after a flirtation. As Mr. 
Witty was assuming what he thought his most 
fascinating manner the counter seemed in- 
stantly to rise on edge and interpose a wooden 
harrier between him and his fair customer. 
Before Mr. Witty had recovered from his 
amazement the counter settled back into its 
place and the pretty girl got her ribbon with- 
out further annoyance. 


WITCHERY WAYS 


73 


These and many similar experiences, how- 
ever, soon disgusted William Witty, and he 
also resigned. He had always thought him- 
self fitted to shine in city life; so to the city 
he followed his predecessors. 

Mr. Stephen Steele was the next clerk to 
stand behind the magic counter in old Mr. 
Wideawake’s store, but his career there was 
cut short by an unfortunate circumstance. 
Mr. Steele was a young gentleman whose 
grammatical studies had not gone far enough 
to enable him to appreciate the difference be- 
tween the possessive cases of the first and sec- 
ond personal pronoun. He confounded mine 
and thine. 

He had not been in Mr. Wideawake’s store 
more than three days when, happening to 
wish some money to pay a small debt, he con- 
cluded to take some from the till when no one 
was looking. Now, the till had been var- 
nished with the rest of the counter, and as 
soon as Stephen Steele put in his hand with 
that unlawful purpose the drawer closed and 
held his hand in a tight grip. The poor clerk 
screamed with pain, hut the till would not 
open until old Mr. Wideawake seized the 
knob. Stephen’s hand was then seen to be 


74 


WITCHERY WAYS 


full of coin. So this clerk followed the others 
to the city. 

The fifth clerk was named Oliver Honest. 
There was not a lazy hone in his body. Though 
he did not think himself unusually smart, he 
was all the more anxious to improve what 
brains he had. He would sooner swallow 
melted lead than a drop of brandy, and would 
rather fill his pocket with live coals than with 
other people’s money. 

With him the counter seemed more be- 
witched than ever. It actually unrolled the 
cloth and measured it off for him. The yard- 
stick was as light as a feather. The scissors 
made a perfectly straight cut almost without 
his assistance. The proper change flew from 
the till into his hand. Indeed, so marvelously 
quick and accurate, with the counter’s assist- 
ance, seemed the clerk that old Mr. Wide- 
awake’s trade was soon doubled. Oliver took 
an interest in the business, and when the 
senior partner died, became owner of the 
store. 

He has a fine home now and a charming 
family, and every one likes him. Indeed, 
they have made him mayor of the town, and 
last week he was compelled to do four dis- 


WITCHERY WAYS 


75 


agreeable things: to send Gilbert Guzzler to 
the insane asylum, William Witty and Ed- 
ward Easy to the work-house, and Stephen 
Steele to prison. 














WITCHERY WAYS 


VII 


SPLATZONDERKOFF 

L andlord Geoffrey kept an inn for 

its owner, who was a young man living 
many a score of miles away. The first 
Tuesday of every month Landlord Geoffrey 
sent to this young man the earnings of the 
house for the month, less the landlord’s wages. 
The inn had been a famous one in times past, 
and was still a great, comfortable establish- 
ment, whose very roof was an invitation, it 
spread out so cosy and generous. But its re- 
nown was slowly passing away. Travelers 
constantly left dissatisfied, and there was even 
talk of building an opposition lodging-house 
in the town. The truth is, the old landlord 
was becoming lazy and careless, and his lazi- 
ness and carelessness were soon caught by 
every one about the building. 

By every one but his daughter Gertrude. 
She was ashamed of such a state of things, 
and often remonstrated with her father: 

77 


78 


WITCHERY WAYS 


‘ 4 Father, don ’t yon tell that young man when 
you write to him that there is little travel? 
Don ’t you say that business is dull ! Suppose 
he should pay us a visit. I’m afraid he would 
find out another reason why we have little 
money to send him. ’ ’ But Landlord Geoffrey 
wrnuld only grunt, and puff away lazily at his 
great black pipe. 

One very hot day in August a carriage 
drove smartly up to the inn door, and from it 
alighted a brisk old man, with long white 
whiskers and curly white hair. He gave an 
expectant glance around, and then, as there 
was no one to do it for him, tied his horse for 
himself, and walked into the office. Landlord 
Geoffrey was sitting with his feet on the win- 
dow-sill, reading the paper and smoking. He 
was a fat old man, with bushy red hair, and a 
double chin. 

“ Where is the landlord, sir?” asked the 
stranger. 

“I am the landlord,” answered Geoffrey, 
motioning lazily to a counter. “ There is the 
register. Make yourself at home.” 

The brisk old gentleman gave an aston- 
ished stare at the stolid landlord, who was 
now buried again in the newspaper. Then 


WITCHERY WAYS 


79 


he rubbed bis bands, and thundered out this 
word : ‘ 4 Splatzonderkoff ! ’ 7 

Landlord Geoffrey looked up in wonder, 
and his amazement became painful when be 
saw, stepping smartly up to the stranger, a 
fat old fellow, red hair and double chin, the 
exact image of himself. 

“Good-morning !” said this apparition, 
bowing and smiling. “Hot traveling, I fear. 
Let me take your bat. Won’t you have a 
glass of cold water?” and the mock landlord 
drew a glass of ice-water from a cooler in the 
corner, which bad been dry all summer, as 
Geoffrey well knew, and banded it to the mys- 
terious guest. 

“Where did you come from? Drove, I 
see. Too bad there was no one to tie your 
horse. Valise out there? Where can that 
porter be?” and the figure with the likeness 
of Geoffrey rushed to the call-bell, and gave it 
such a pull as it had not received for years. 

Peter the porter was in the kitchen talking 
quietly with the chambermaid when he heard 
that startling peal, and sauntered a little less 
leisurely than usual to the office. 

“Come, sir!” cried the mock landlord, 
stamping his foot, while the porter looked in 


80 


WITCHERY WAYS 


stupid amazement at liis duplicate masters. 
4 ‘What is your duty? Get this gentleman’s 
valise to his room at once. Number 27!” 

Still Peter the porter stared, with his mouth 
wide open, and did not budge. Straightway 
the wonderful stranger rubbed his hands 
together, and again thundered, “Splatzon- 
derkoff !” 

“Coming, sir!” called a brisk voice from 
the next room, and there came running up a 
young man for all the world like Peter the 
porter, without his slowness. “Where’s the 
valise? In the carriage? Oh, yes. Here it 
is. And the umbrella? Anything else? 
Shall I show you to your room at once, sir?” 

“Not yet. I should like to see my horse 
well cared for first. An old family pet, land- 
lord, ’ ’ answered the marvelous traveler, turn- 
ing to the false Geoffrey, while the feet of the 
real one came down from the window-sill, and 
the genuine Peter the porter felt his hair begin 
to rise. 

“Very well. Very well,” said the mock 
landlord. “Peter, lead the gentleman’s horse 
to the stable. Let us walk around and see it 
comfortably quartered”; and the two led the 
way, with the white-haired guest, while the 



Witchery Ways 

“PETER FELT HIS HAIR BEGIN TO RISE” 

81 


6 






WITCHERY WAYS 


83 


genuine landlord and porter followed slowly 
as in a dream. 

The stable-yard was very untidy, and the 
wide-open stable-doors showed a sadly con- 
fused state within ; but, worst of all, no stable- 
boy appeared. 

4 ‘ Sim ! Sim ! ’ ’ loudly called Geoffrey num- 
ber two, and Sim the stable-boy, roused by the 
unwonted noise from his slumber in the shade 
of the straw-stack, came sleepily forward. 

“Now, then, Sim, you lazy fellow, this 
gentleman’s horse, don’t you see!” 

Sim did see, and saw also the two landlords 
and the two porters, and stood still, his eyes 
as big as saucers. But the brisk old gentle- 
man was none too patient. He rubbed his 
hands, — “Splatzonderkoff !”— and out of no- 
where sprang cheerily a second Sim the 
stable-boy, duplicate of the first. He nimbly 
flew to the carriage, unharnessed the horse in 
a moment, led him to a stall, pulled down some 
hay, pulled out some corn, and, drawing the 
carriage into the shade, fell to washing it off. 
This was all done so deftly that the old gentle- 
man was well pleased. “Good!” said he, 
turning to Geoffrey number two. ‘ ‘ And now 
I will go to my room. ’ 9 


84 


WITCHERY WAYS 


“This way, sir. Peter, get the luggage. 
And on the way call Clara the chambermaid. 
The room is our best, sir, but may need some 
rearranging. ’ ’ 

And surely, when they arrived there, the 
room did appear to need a dozen chamber- 
maids. It was wide, and high, and nicely 
furnished, yet there were no towels, no water, 
no soap, no clothes-brush, no matches. The 
bed lacked pillows. The window-shutters 
were tightly closed. The room had a musty, 
damp smell. 

As the awe-stricken Geoffrey and Peter 
peeped in at the door, they saw their doubles 
fly at the windows in a fury, raise them, throw 
back the shutters, and let in a flood of light 
that showed the room in all its untidiness. 

“And now, where is that Clara the cham- 
bermaid? Where is Peter? Oh, here you 
are. Did you call Clara ?” 

“Yes, sir. She said she would fix things 
up after dinner, but I hurried her up, and she 
is coming now. ’ ’ 

And to be sure, in sauntered a tall, slovenly 
girl, untidy and languid. Seeing first the 
mock Geoffrey, she said to him, ‘ ‘ Is there any 
hurry? I’ll right the room before dark.” 


WITCHERY WAYS 


85 


“ Splatzonderkoff !” shouted the stranger, 
rubbing his hands vigorously, and a second 
Clara the chambermaid came running up- 
stairs, dressed in pretty pink calico, with a 
coquettish cap on her head. 

“Why, what a state this room is in!” she 
cried with a glance around, then drew some 
clean towels out of a drawer, sent Peter for 
some water, flew off and back with soap, pil- 
lows, matches, clothes-brush, hung the travel- 
er’s linen duster on a peg, brushed up some 
litter from the carpet, and whisked out again, 
while the true Clara looked on in amaze. 

“And now, sir, take a good bath, and you 
will be ready for dinner. Dinner in half an 
hour, sir,” said the mock landlord, bowing 
himself out of the room, and leaving the mys- 
terious visitant alone. 

In half an hour the traveler descended the 
great stairway, and found his way to the din- 
ing-room. The marvelous duplicates had all 
disappeared, but the landlord and his crew 
were gathered in a frightened knot in the 
wood-shed, talking about the propriety of 
sending for the constable. 

So the old gentleman had to judge of the 
location of the dining-room by the sense of 


86 


WITCHERY WAYS 


smell. A very appetizing odor, however, 
drew him with no mistake to a room very dif- 
ferent from the rest of the house. Here Ger- 
trude reigned. It was a cosy apartment, with 
but one table set, for a solitary guest. Ger- 
trude herself came to meet him with a win- 
ning smile, as sweet a damsel as the glad light 
ever shone upon. She seated him at the table, 
neat and shining with bright dishes and a 
pretty vase with some delicate roses in the 
center. She spread his napkin deftly, and 
w r ith the daintiest grace in the world began to 
wait upon him. 

“Who is cook here?” asked the old gentle- 
man. “That department, at least, needs no 
improvement. ’ ’ 

“I am, sir, now that we have few guests, 
though my father, the landlord, sir, thinks the 
work too hard for me. But I call it pure 
fun.” 

“Does it take all your time?” queried the 
old gentleman, and that question was but the 
beginning of a long talk. In fact, the old 
gentleman did more talking than eating, and 
the dear Gertrude more talking than serving, 
for the old gentleman’s eyes kept growing 
brighter and his voice lower, and at last, when 


WITCHERY WAYS 


87 


Gertrude came in from the kitchen bringing 
the dessert, she nearly dropped the server, 
for there sat - a handsome young man, and 
on the floor lay a wig and whiskers of white 
hair ! 

4 ‘ G ertrude, I am the owner of this inn, and 
I have come here to find out why my receipts 
kept diminishing. I have learned that, but I 
have found out something more. Can you 
guess what 1 9 9 

Things happen rapidly in fairy stories. 
Soon after dinner, into the presence of Land- 
lord Geoffrey, who had regained some of his 
composure over a fresh pipe in the office, came 
a blushing couple, his daughter, and a fine 
young man. 

“Landlord, I am the old man, your guest. 
I am the owner of this house, and came in dis- 
guise, to find out why my receipts have been 
decreasing. I have found more. I have dis- 
covered the dearest girl in the world! We 
ask your blessing.” 

Geoffrey, small blame to him, stood lost in 
wonder at this new prodigy. Thereat the 
young man rubbed his hands and said slyly, 
“Splatz-” 

“Hold!” cried Geoffrey, looking around in 


88 


WITCHERY WAYS 


awe. ‘‘That’s something I prefer to do my- 
self. And, indeed, I intend to require no 
duplicating in the future, in any matter. God 
bless you, my children!” 


WITCHERY WAYS 


VIII 


THE WISHING-SNOW 

Y OU will hardly believe it, my dear chil- 
dren, but in my youthful days I, even I, 
commonplace though I seem to be, 
studied magic under no less a person than the 
Wonderful Wizard. In my old age I have 
forgotten most that my master taught me. 
To tell the truth, I have made little use of it 
all, for I have found the wonders of our mod- 
ern science more magical than any Black Art 
could imagine. 

But though I have forgotten so much, I shall 
never forget the first lesson in Practical 
Magic which I received from my teacher. 

W T e*were seated in the Wizard’s study, and 
the wise old gentleman was teaching me, from 
a black-letter folio, the properties of the Fern- 
seed Wand, and the use of Formula No. 54. 

Suddenly he discovered that it was snowing 
heavily outside, and asked me if I wouldn’t 
like to make practical trial at once of the prin- 
ciples we were studying. I agreed gladly, for, 

89 


90 


WITCHERY WAYS 


up to that time, I had done nothing but pore 
over big, dry books, and I was eager for 
something more entertaining. 

Of course, I dare not tell you just how we 
used the Fern-seed Wand and Formula No. . 
54. That’s a secret. However, by their aid 
we quickly charmed forty feet of the sidewalk 
which stretched in front of our study-window. 
This was a broad bay-window, very close to 
the street, and commanding a good view in 
either direction, for the Wonderful Wizard 
learned many valuable secrets from a study 
of the passers-by. 

Then my teacher told me that all the snow 
which fell now over those twenty feet of side- 
walk had been transformed into a wishing- 
snow;. a snow, that is, which would indicate, 
by the form it took on, what thought or wish 
was uppermost in the minds of those who 
might enter the mystic region. I watched the 
result with interest. 

The first to pass down the street was a 
pretty young girl in a seal-skin sacque, who 
wore a hat the trimming of which was far too 
delicate for the rough weather. She was evi- 
dently thinking of nothing but her own ap- 
pearance, and so I was not at all surprised to 


WITCHERY WAYS 


91 


see the snow-flakes, as they fell upon her, 
change into peacock feathers. What a ri- 
diculous figure she cut as she walked on, 
carrying her head high, that head radiating 
long peacock feathers in all directions, while 
her sacque looked like a feather duster! The 
people turned and stared at her, but she 
thought it was on account of the beauty of her 
garments and herself, and held her head the 
higher, poor thing ! 

The next to approach the charmed spot was 
old Peter Bullion, a very rich and miserly 
speculator, whose hands were always in his 
pockets and his thoughts always of stocks. He 
had hardly placed his foot upon the bewitched 
ground when the snow turned yellow and 
began to fall down very fiercely, like a golden 
hail. Indeed, old Peter Bullion was being 
pelted with gold dollars, and pelted most un- 
mercifully, stung all over with hard, sharp 
edges, so that he began to run for his life. 
Happening to catch sight of the gold, how- 
ever, he stopped short, and began to gather it 
from the ground. But the gold was red-hot, 
and scorched his hands, and burned great 
holes in his pockets, and Peter Bullion rushed 
away in an agony to the nearest apothecary ’s 


92 


WITCHERY WAYS 


shop. As soon as lie left the place the magic 
gold disappeared. 

In a moment walked smartly by sharp- 
featured Miss Vinegar, the town gossip, whose 
crabbed face but faintly showed forth her 
sour temper. She must have been feeling un- 
usually ugly just then, for as soon as she 
touched the enchanted space the snow became 
gray and bright like steel, and changed to 
sharp pins and needles, and part of it to fierce 
bees and hornets, which pricked her and 
stung her as unmercifully as her thoughts 
were stinging her neighbors, so that she 
screamed in terror, and quickly ran out of 
sight, to the amazement of the entire street. 

Hardly were we through laughing at this 
merited punishment when a young student 
stepped slowly into the weird region, his head 
bowed down, and his ambitious thoughts in- 
tent on some scholarly theme. The white 
snow-flakes became broad over him like leaves 
of paper, and gathered together swiftly and 
strangely into books, which nestled down un- 
der the student’s arms as if they belonged 
there, as, indeed, they did ; so that the young 
man carried several precious volumes from 
the mystic spot, all unconscious of his gains. 


WITCHERY WAYS 


93 


Then came staggering up a toper, just come 
from the saloon, blear-eyed, red-nosed, and 
giddy-brained. It was a horrible sight, for 
in his presence the spell turned all the white 
flakes into ugly red serpents, which squirmed 
down through the air, twisted into the poor 
man’s ears and mouth and filled his clothes, 
and drove him howling and frantic, as fast 
as his unsteady legs could carry him, to his 
wretched home. 

We breathed more freely as one of his little 
children came following sadly after him. It 
was a pitiful thing to see, for she was thinly 
clad against the storm, and her face was 
pinched. And we both wept,— the Wonder- 
ful Wizard and I,— as the magical snow-flakes 
transformed themselves into her wish, for 
they came down great buns, and loaves of 
bread and rolls of butter, so that the poor 
little thing gathered up a big armful, and 
went home happy. 

Soon from the other direction came bounc- 
ing into view a red-cheeked urchin, fat and 
happy, the son of a well-to-do merchant. As 
he entered the enchanted ground the flakes 
became red and green and yellow, and were 
swiftly massed into a gayly painted sled with 


94 


WITCHERY WAYS 


bright runners, which the jolly young fellow 
seized with unconcern, as if the sky often 
rained down things for him. 

The flakes were falling less rapidly, and 
the storm was evidently near its end, when 
there came into view a sweet-faced little 
woman, the true home-mother of a large 
family, whose love went out as well to many 
little children not her own. And surely the 
wonderful snow rejoiced in her, for it fell 
down softly on her in form of rose and lily 
and all sweet-scented blossoms, so that the 
mother marveled at the sudden fragrance, 
but did not know whence it came. 

We both thought this a pretty ending for 
our experiment, and so we disenchanted the 
ground (by the use of the Blue Hazel -wand 
and Formula No. 94) and returned to our 
studies in the Theory of Magic. And now, 
my dear young readers, let an old man advise 
you to be very careful of your thoughts 
whenever you walk out in a snow-storm, be- 
cause, you see, you are likely at any time to 
stumble into a wisliing-snow ! 


WITCHERY WAYS 


IX 


AROUND JIMTOWN WITH 
COLUMBUS 

H arold Randolph leaned back in his 

easy-chair, reading, by the light of the 
gas overhead, for the fourth time, 
Washington Irving’s Life of Columbus. That 
book had for him a strong fascination. 

“A wonderful man!” thought Harold to 
himself, leaning back, and laying down his 
book. “A wonderful man, and a wonderful 
deed! Oh, that such things were possible 
still! But everything is discovered,— except 
the North Pole, and that will be discovered 
next year, I guess. 

“How I should like to set sail on an un- 
known sea, some ‘Sea of Darkness,’ and sail 
‘on— and* on— and on— and on—,’ to a whole, 
fresh, marvelous continent ! What a notion, for 
a fellow who lives in Jimtown ! Jimtown— bah ! 
If it were only Jamestown, now; but how 
would it sound, ‘the great discoverer, Harold 
Randolph, of Jimtown?’ It doesn’t signify, 

95 


96 


WITCHERY WAYS 


though. The world is pretty much divided up 
into town lots already, and mapped by the 
square foot.” 

What! What! Harold sat up straight in 
his easy-chair and rubbed his eyes. He was 
no longer alone in the room. The door had 
not opened, yet a man stood before him. And 
the man was— he rubbed his eyes again. 

The stranger was stately, dignified in bear- 
ing. He wore an antique and splendid garb, 
and carried a sword. His hair was white. His 
face was seamed. The features carried the 
marks of endurance and heavy trouble. Never- 
theless, he was erect, alert, proud, of heroic 
form ; and in his eyes was the mingled light of 
a poet and a warrior. 

Harold sprang up and stammered a greet- 
ing. He half held out his hand, but the courtly 
stranger, with his far-away look, did not seem 
to see it. 

“Discoveries— discoveries— ” said he, in 
measured tones; “what do you know about 
discoveries?” 

“Nothing, sir; hut I was wishing to know 
something. ’ ’ 

“Yes, discoveries across great seas, through 
mighty forests, across deserts, and piercing 


WITCHERY WAYS 


97 


jungles, among savages, mutineers, knaves,— 
well enough, well enough; but I’ve learned 
better. Stay at home, lad. Make your dis- 
coveries here. ’ 9 

“But this is Jimtown.” 

4 ‘ Jimtown ! What of it? People Jive here, 
do they not? My boy, I have been a dis- 
coverer in my day. Will you go with me on 
a Jimtown cruise to-night ?” 

Harold did not need to say yes. Before he 
knew it, he was out in the dark street of the 
little village, his mysterious visitor by his side. 
The operatives were just hurrying home from 
the ropewalks. Jimtown ’s one industry was 
making rope, and the mills often carried 
a night force ; but work was slack now, 
and many operatives were compelled to be 
idle. 

Just in front of Harold and his guide were 
two girls, their arms around each other. One 
was crying. 

“To think that I should he discharged at 
such a time as this, just when mother is so 
sick, and we need the money so much,” she 
sobbed. 

Harold found that they paid no more atten- 
tion to him than if he were not there, close 

7 — Witchery Ways. 


98 


WITCHERY WAYS 


behind them, and he heard every word of the 
answer. 

“ There, there! Don’t cry, darling. I’m 
not discharged, and I won’t be. They can’t 
spare me. They said so. And yon shall have 
my pay nntil you get taken back. I have quite 
enough laid up, you know, to live on for a 
while. Yes, dear; you must take it. I won’t 
have it any other way.” 

Harold felt the stranger pulling him aside 
down a cross-street. “ There!” said the 
stately guide; “that is our first discovery in 
Jimtown, and is it not worth while?” 

i ‘ It is, indeed, ’ ’ replied Harold, with a lump 
in his throat. 

On that cross-street lived Bill Grant, a 
rough and stupid boy, whom Harold had cor- 
dially disliked ever since, in a bit of boorish 
sport, Bill had pulled a flower out of Harold’s 
coat. “ Hi ! Dandy ! Dude ! ’ ’ Bill had sung, on 
that occasion. 

Nevertheless, Harold found himself enter- 
ing Bill’s front yard. The stranger led the 
way, and Harold felt mysteriously impelled to 
follow. They looked in at a side window. 

On a little white bed lay a little, white-faced 
girl. It was Bill’s sister, and Harold now re- 


WITCHERY WAYS 


99 


membered that Bill had not been to school for 
several days. Doctor Green was in the room. 
He wore a sober face, as he measured out 
medicine. Mrs. Grant had red eyes. 

But what Harold chiefly saw was Bill. Bill 
was sitting by his sister’s bedside, with one 
little, frail hand clasped hard in his great, 
coarse fingers. With his other hand he was 
smoothing the beautiful hair that streamed 
over the pillow. And Bill’s face was as 
tender and gentle as any woman ’s could be. 

“Let me go in,” begged Harold of the 
stranger ; but the stranger shook his head. 

i ‘ Perhaps I might help in some way, ’ ’ urged 
Harold. 

“There is no need,” answered his guide, 
gently pulling him away. “She will get well, 
though it will be a hard struggle. But haven’t 
you made a second discovery f ’ ’ 

“Bill!” 

“And a worthy discovery?” 

“A great one!” 

On went the two, off into a wider street, and 
into the grounds of a grand old country man- 
sion. The owners had once been rich, but 
now were poor enough. In fact, Mrs. Court- 
land was a widow, with nothing to support the 


L of C. 


100 


WITCHERY WAYS 


two little girls of the family but the salary of 
her son, a young lad who taught a room in the 
village school. Harold was in Frank Court- 
land ’s room, and did not like him. To be sure, 
the young collegian knew a great deal, but 
Harold fancied him ‘ ‘ stuck-up. ’ ’ He shrank 
back, but could not help following the stranger 
up the fine avenue of elms that led to the 
house. 

As before, they looked in at a window, but 
this window was on the second floor. Harold 
never knew how he got on top of the porch 
roof, but there he was. 

Within was indeed a curious scene. Mrs. 
Courtland was lying in a chair, wrapped up in 
blankets, for she was an invalid. Fanny and 
Grace, Frank’s younger sisters, were saying 
their lessons to him. And he, the learned, 
1 1 stuck-up ’ ’ collegian, was mending stockings ! 
A basket of clothes was by his side, and he was 
evidently just completing a good evening’s 
work. 

Harold was so much astonished that he did 
not notice how he got out into the street again, 
but he soon found himself outside of the 
grounds. 

“Well?” asked his mysterious conductor. 


WITCHERY WAYS 


101 


“I shall never call Frank Conrtland stuck- 
up again/ ’ 

4 4 A third discovery, then ! ’ 9 

44 I should say so.” 

4 4 And a noble one!” 

4 4 Yes, indeed.” 

They turned from the most respectable 
quarter of the village to 44 Coontown,” an out- 
lying district tilled with miserable huts. Be- 
fore the worst of these they stopped. Gate 
and fence were rickety. The window-panes 
through which they looked were dirty, and one 
was badly broken. There was no curtain. 

Within, it was bare and poor enough, for 
this was the home of a drunkard. Harold 
recognized the owner, sitting by a wretched, 
broken-legged table, on which was a blear- 
eyed lamp. Through the open door of the 
kitchen could be seen the wife and children, 
gathered about the stove. They cast occa- 
sional glances through the open door, and 
their faces were not sad, but hopeful, though 
they were pale and thin. 

Tim Mallory was a bad egg, a confirmed 
drunkard, and could get no work. What 
could put even a sparkle of hope and cheer 
into his wife’s face! 


102 


WITCHERY WAYS 


Harold saw Parson Brownlow sitting by 
Tim’s side. Now Parson Brownlow was the 
subject of another of Harold’s aversions. The 
parson’s preaching was not brilliant, it must 
be confessed. It even tended irresistibly to 
put people to sleep, with its measured, solemn 
sentences, droned out in minor key. Harold 
seldom went to church. 

There, nevertheless, sat Parson Brownlow, 
with his arm around dirty, whiskey-soaked, 
ugly Tim Mallory. And Tim was crying like 
a baby. The parson was pleading with him 
earnestly, lovingly. He took a little book out 
of his pocket, and read to him. In a few min- 
utes the two knelt down together, the parson’s 
arm still around the drunkard. When they 
rose, Tim looked more manly than Harold had 
thought possible. He shook the parson vigor- 
ously by the hand. Tim’s wife had come tim- 
idly out, and Tim kissed her. As the parson 
left, he forced upon Tim some money. 

Harold could not stand that. 4 4 Let me 
speak to him ! ” he whispered to his conductor, 
as the parson shut the door and went 
toward the rickety gate. “ I want to thank 
him. I want to ask his pardon for all 
the mean things I have said about him, I 


WITCHERY WAYS 


103 


want to go with him the next time he comes to 
Coontown. ’ ’ 

“No,” said the stranger, and tried to hold 
him back. Harold struggled in his strong 
grasp, struggled, and— awoke ! He was in his 
easy-chair. Washington Irving’s story of the 
great discovery was lying on the floor. Was 
it all a dream? 




WITCHERY WAYS 


X 


THE PROPULSIVE PEN . 

i 

T ROT sat on the front steps, a tear in each 
of her big brown eyes, and in each of her 
chubby little hands a part of a doll. 
One hand held the china head, with its beauti- 
ful flaxen curls. The other hand held the 
poor body, dressed in brown silk to match 
Trot’s eyes, and with the white china neck piti- 
fully protruding its ragged edges. The ter- 
rible accident had happened an hour ago, and 
though Mother had promised to mend Dolly 
Angelina Serapliina Lily Bess, Trot scorned 
the proposal. 

4 ‘ When peoples have their heads cut off 
they’re dead, ’n’ Angelina’s dead. She must 
be,” sobbed logical Trot, and Mother could 
think of nothing to satisfy the little reasoner. 

From the street Trot made a sorrowful 
sight. That was evidently the opinion of a 
queer little man with a pack on his back like 
a peddler, who stopped at the gate, looked 

105 


106 


WITCHERY WAYS 


sharply at Trot from under his bushy eye- 
brows, and then walked smartly up the front 
walk. 

4 4 What ’s your name, my dear?” he asked, 
in the j oiliest little squeak imaginable. 

“My name, sir,” answered our little girl, 
“is Twot— Betsey Twotwood. Only my real- 
est name is Elizabeth Benton. ’ ’ 

“And may I ask what’s the matter, Miss 
Trot, for I see what’s left of two tears, one 
in each of your pretty eyes ? ’ ’ Trot had never 
before been told that her eyes were pretty, but 
her grief left her no thought for compliments. 

“Dolly’s dead.” 

“Dolly?” 

“Yes, Dolly Angelina Serapliina Lily 
Bess.” 

“And is this the— the— remains of Dolly 
Angelina— Lily— and the rest of her?” 

“Yes,” sobbed Trot, her sorrow breaking 
out afresh at the thought, “this is all that’s 
left of her— just her head and her body— and 
her clothes.” 

“Trot, it’s very lucky I came along just 
now. I am Doctor Fixdollie, the best doctor 
in the world. Wait till I get my medicine 
chest. Hum— hum,” And Doctor Fixdollie 


WITCHERY WAYS 


107 


reached around, opened his pack, and drew 
out the queerest bottle Trot had ever seen. It 
had a twisted, snaky neck, and Trot was al- 
most sure she saw it wriggle as if it were 
alive. 

“Now put Dolly Angelina together,’ ’ com- 
manded the doll-doctor; and when Trot had 
done so he wet his finger with the liquid in the 
strange bottle, and rubbed it once around the 
dead doll ’s neck. Trot looked at Dolly Angel- 
ina in astonishment. Not even a crack was to 
be seen. 

‘ ‘ Dolly ’s alive again ! Dolly ’s alive again ! 
And”— here Trot almost screamed in her ex- 
citement— “ she ’s winking at me ! ’ ’ 

Sure enough. Dolly Angelina had had fine 
eyes before, but they were stiff and staring. 
Now— what a wonderful physician was Doctor 
Fixdollie !— the doll opened and shut her eyes. 
But the queer little stranger left her no time 
for hugging the restored infant. With his 
stout cane he tapped Trot’s stout little toe. 

“What’s this?” he asked, sharply. “And 
what’s this?” he continued, putting the cane 
on her dress. 

“Why, that’s —that’s a hole in my shoe, and 
that’s another hole in my dwess. They will 


108 


WITCHERY WAYS 


come, and I’m ’s careful as I can be, and 
Mamma cwies.” 

“Your mother cries!” 

“Yes, at the holes; and I guess she finks I 
cost a good deal, ’cause she ’s so poor. I wish 
I didn ’t wear out things so. ’ ’ 

The little man reached around in his pack 
without saying a word. He pulled out a piece 
of leather and laid it carelessly on Trot’s shoe, 
just where the little, white-stockinged toe was 
showing through. The next instant he pressed 
a piece of cloth against the hole in Trot’s 
dress. 

“0— o— o— o!” cried Trot; “my shoe’s 
whole, it’s all whole, and how they bof shine! 
Are you a shoe-doctor, too!” 

“Yes,” said the stranger, smiling. “I am 
sometimes called Cobbler Cutapatch.” And 
truly Cobbler Cutapatch had done a fine job, 
for the bit of leather had grown over the hole 
in the toe so neatly that the sharpest eye could 
not see the patch, and both stout, copper-toed 
boots shone as if new. 

“And oo— o— o— ee!” squealed Trot again. 
“I’ve got a new dwess ! Oh, you dear doctor, 
you dear doctor! You are a dwess-doctor, 
too!” 





WITCHERY WAYS 


111 


4 4 To be sure. I am often called Tailor Tat- 
termend, Trot.” 

And certainly Tailor Tattermend used won- 
derful cloth, for in a jiffy it had grown over 
the hole in Trot’s dress, so that you couldn’t 
tell that place from any other place in the 
dress. Best of all, the dress looked brand- 
new, and it actually had an extra ruffle ! Don’t 
you wish you had a yard of Tailor Tatter- 
mend’s magic cloth? 

“Oh, thank you! thank you, Doctor, you 
dear Doctor ! ’ ’ and Trot puckered up her rose- 
bud of a mouth for a kiss that the little man 
was not slow to give her. 

“Thank you, Trot,” said he, heartily. 
“That kiss tastes good to an old man like me. 
And now, Trot, why is your mother so poor?” 

“ ’Cause Papa’s dead, and — ’cause she is,— 
and oh! Doctor, haven’t you some bottle to 
keep her from cwying?” 

“Isn’t there any one to take care of you? 
Haven ’t you any relatives ? ’ ’ 

“No one but Gwanpa Benton, and he— he— 
I never saw him, and Mamma doesn’t want me 
to talk about him.” 

“Oho! I remember the story now. John 
Benton didn’t like your father. A rich old 


112 


WITCHERY WAYS 


miser ! How could he like that fine young fel- 
low ? Tell your mother, Trot dear, to keep np 
her spirits, for the doll-doctor will take her 
case in hand. Good-by, Trot.” 

Trot winked her big brown eyes in wonder. 
“Oo— o— o— 0 !” she squealed again,— for 
Doctor Fixdollie, tailor and cobbler, had dis- 
appeared! There wasn’t a trace of him ex- 
cept the mended doll and boot and dress. With 
these Trot ran in to her mother. 

11 

John Benton, Trot’s grandfather, was a 
rich old man, living in a great city nearby. 
He was sitting at his desk in his office on the 
afternoon of the very day when Trot had her 
strange visitor. He was in a very bad tem- 
per, because a card had just been brought in 
by his office-boy, bearing the name, ‘ ‘ Thomas 
Barnes.” Mr. Barnes was always collecting 
subscriptions for some hospital or charity or 
mission, and the old man knew Mr. Barnes 
had come to beg for some good cause he could 
hardly refuse. 

While Trot’s grandfather was frowning at 
this card, a second one was brought in by a 


WITCHERY WAYS 


113 


clerk. It read, ‘ ‘ Peter Penn, President of the 
Propulsive Pen Partnership. ’ ’ 

“He looks like an agent,’ ’ said the clerk, 
apologetically; “and he has a pack on his 
back. But I didn’t know what to make of his 
card,” 

“I’ll see him at once,” said Mr. Benton, 
glad to have some excuse for putting off: his 
interview with Mr. Thomas Barnes. 

A moment afterwards in came our friend of 
the many names, Trot’s Doctor Fixdollie. He 
stepped briskly up to the old gentleman ’s desk, 
and began to rattle off this speech, like a prac- 
ticed agent: 

4 ‘ I want to show you, Mr. Benton, the most 
marvelous mechanical contrivance of this cen- 
tury, the Propulsive Pen. This is a genuine 
fountain pen. All others are misnamed. A 
pen isn’t a fountain pen if you have to press 
it and wriggle it all the time to make it run. 
Now my pen, the Propulsive Pen, works while 
held still in the hand. Write your name, 
sir. ’ ’ 

Saying this, he put into Mr. Benton’s hand 
a very strange contrivance. It was a pen 
shaped like the head of a little old man, with a 
wise and merry face. His hair was in a long 

8— Witchery Ways. 


114 


WITCHERY WAYS 


queue, and in the end of the queue was a gold 
pen. 

Peter Penn showed Mr. Benton how to take 
hold of this head, and rest the tip of the queue 
on the paper before him. No sooner had he 
done this, than, in the most weird way, a 
stream of ink began to flow from the pen, 
though Mr. Benton did not move his hand. 
The ink ran crinkling out, twisting up, twist- 
ing down, doubling on its course, until it had 
swiftly formed the name, 4 ‘John Benton.’ ’ 

“Wonderful!” exclaimed Mr. Benton, in 
spite of himself. ‘ ‘ How much is it V ’ 

‘ ‘ Seventy-five cents, ’ ’ answered Peter Penn. 
“This is a job lot, and I am selling them 
cheap. If you were to buy this from any one 
but the president of the Propulsive Pen Part- 
nership, you would have to pay one dollar. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ All right. I ’ll take one, ’ ’ and Mr. Benton 
counted out seventy-five cents, his eyes spark- 
ling. Whoever heard of such a bargain 1 The 
old gentleman dearly loved a good bargain. 
Peter Penn seemed equally well pleased, took 
liis money, and departed, making an impish 
little bow at the door. 

As he went out, Mr. Thomas Barnes walked 
in. He was a business man, — even more of a 


WITCHERY WAYS 


115 


business man than John Benton, only his busi- 
ness was the Lord’s and John Benton’s was 
his own. In a business-like way, then, he went 
to work, and speedily disclosed the needs of 
the Sunbury Orphan Asylum, and in such a 
way that* Mr. Benton saw he would be obliged 
to draw a check. 

Trot’s grandfather was thinking how small 
he could manage to make the check, and took 
up, in an absent-minded way, his new pen. He 
held it on the check, the amount he would give 
growing constantly smaller in his mind. 

A flash of black ink ! A lightning flash, of 
wrinkled black lightning ! Never was a check 
made out so quickly before. Mr. Benton’s 
hand had not moved, but the magic line of ink 
flew along the paper, doubled one line, curved 
back on the next (for it could evidently write 
backward as well as forward), squirmed for- 
ward over the next, and finished with “John 
Benton” at the bottom,— a bold, black signa- 
ture. 

The old man’s back had been turned upon 
the visitor, so that Mr. Barnes had seen noth- 
ing of all this, but as Mr. Benton started back 
in astonishment, the man of charity perceived 
that the check was already filled out. 


116 


WITCHERY WAYS 


“You are a rapid penman,’ ’ he remarked, 
taking up the hit of paper. 4 4 Ah ! thank you ! 
thank you ! you are very generous. This is a 
noble check ! ’ ’ 

“Wh— wh— what?” stuttered Mr. Benton, 
looking at the check in absolute horror. It 
was made out for five hundred dollars. He 
had intended to give five dollars! 

Mr. Barnes was profuse in his surprised 
gratitude, and Mr. Benton hadn’t a word to 
say. He didn’t know how to take that check 
back. Some way, he didn’t care to take it 
back as much as might have been expected, 
Mr. Barnes was telling him of so many beau- 
tiful things that that money might do for 
those orphans. 

It was a new role for Mr. Benton to play— 
that of a generous giver, but really, it wasn’t 
so unpleasant after all. As Mr. Benton walked 
to the elevator with Mr. Barnes there was a 
look on his face the anjazed clerks had never 
seen there before, and the old miser returned 
to his little office with a tingle of real warmth 
in his heart such as he had never before felt. 

He took up the strange pen and looked at 
the wise head at the top of it, with its merry 
eyes. 


WITCHERY WAYS 


117 


“You’ve cost me much more than seventy- 
five cents,’ ’ he said to himself, “but there is 
no great harm done, so you don’t do it 
again. I’ll never dare use you before folks 
any more, however.” Being by himself, 
Mr. Benton tried the pen on a clean sheet of 
paper. 

‘ ‘ Orphans— orphans— orphans— ’ ’ that’s 
what it wrote, which was natural enough, so 
far. 4 ‘ Orphans— orphans— orphans— orphans 
—daughter— grand - daughter— Mary— Mary 
— Elizabeth— poor— poor— hungry, maybe-” 

Old John Benton let the pen fall, but that 
made no difference. The tip still touched the 
paper, and the ink flowed on from the wonder- 
ful “propulsive pen” as if it were alive,— a 
thin, black snake: 

‘ \ —hungry— ragged— sick— who knows ?— 
and you— with your hundreds of thousands— 
fine house— rich food— write her a letter— 
John Benton— a letter— a good letter— a kind 
letter—” 

The old man snatched up the pen, with 
fingers trembling, and a queer flutter at his 
dry heart-strings. Anyway, he would see 
what the magic pen wanted to write. And 
this is what it wrote : 


118 


WITCHERY WAYS 


My dear Daughter: 

You are left alone , and I am lonely. You 
have a child , and my great house needs chil- 
dren. Can you love an old man— your father 
—after the neglect of all these years 9 Can 
you let by-gones be by-gones, as I will ? I am 
greatly afraid you need me; and in a very dif- 
ferent way , my darling , my daughter, I need 
you. Will you not come to me? Lovingly, 

Your father, 

John Benton. 

And, will yon believe it? the next mail that 
went from that office carried this magic letter ! 

And truly it was a magic letter. Trot’s 
mother cried over it: “But it was a happy 
cwy,” said Trot. And then, in a very few 
days, the widow’s poor possessions were 
packed up and carried oft, and Trot’s merry 
prattle ceased to gladden the little house that 
had witnessed such a brave struggle with pov- 
erty and sorrow. 

But in the city a certain great house had 
become all alive with a strange, new joy. 
Trot’s mother walked through it like a beauti- 
ful, pale queen restored to her throne. And 


WITCHERY WAYS 


119 


as for Trot, it was all as wonderful as a fairy 
story. 

Our little girl admired everything, and 
prattled about everything. One day she spied 
a queer figure of a man’s head, occupying the 
post of honor in a glass case in the library. 

‘ ‘ See ! See ! Gwanpa , 9 9 she cried, 4 1 what a 
funny little man! And why does he wear a 
pen at the end of his hair ? 9 9 

“That little man, dear,” said Grandpa Ben- 
ton gravely, “pointed out to me the way of 
life.” 

But what the old gentleman meant Trot will 
learn for the first time when she reads this 
story. 





WITCHERY WAYS 


XI 


THE NOVILLE INDICATOR, 
REVISED EDITION 

I T was a glad day for John Hansom when 
he became editor-in-chief of the Noville 
Indicator. He had worked his way up 
from the lowest position in the composing- 
room, and, though young, understood every 
detail of the business. He could set type, 
make up forms, superintend the stereotyping, 
report a meeting, interview a noted lecturer, 
attend the newsboys, write heavy political 
leaders. 

And now he and Jennie would be able to 
move from their stifling lodgings to a charm- 
ing little house in the suburbs, on which he had 
had an eye for months. Only one matter 
marred his joy, and this he hardly confessed 
to himself. He was ashamed of the Indicator. 
To be sure, it had the largest circulation of 
all the city papers, and was considered by 
every one a very newsy and enterprising 
sheet; but John had the uncomfortable belief 

121 


122 


WITCHERY WAYS 


that its columns, though brightly written and 
“ smart,’ ’ were anything but helpful and 
useful. 

This disturbed him little when he was work- 
ing under orders, but it was a different matter 
when he himself became responsible for the 
sheet. Still, what can one do ? Must not one 
provide what the people want to buy? And 
so John shut up his desk at the close of his 
first day of chieftainship, feeling pretty well 
satisfied with the newspaper he had prepared 
for the morrow. 

It was to contain full accounts of two ter- 
rible murders, details of a railroad accident 
which no other paper had obtained, a spicy 
article on a crime committed in respectable 
society, and some vei y sensational disclosures 
of the crooked dealings of an eminent poli- 
tician. There would not be a dry line in the 
paper, and it would sell like hot cakes. So 
John went home to Jennie with a smile on his 
lips. 

That was at twelve o’clock at night. Now 
it chanced, as the Indicator office was man- 
aged, that the great building was vacant for 
just one hour at this time, from twelve to one. 
The news was in from all over the world, had 


WITCHERY WAYS 


123 


been written out, and put in type. At one 
o’clock the pressmen would come, start up 
the great engine, and begin to transform the 
mighty rolls of white paper into Noville Indi- 
cators. If it had not been for that vacant 
hour, possibly I might have had no story to 
tell. 

John and the night editors went out, and 
locked the door. Bill Thompson, the watch- 
man, was drowsy, and was sitting in the lower 
hallway. But if he had only thought to peep 
into the editorial rooms, upstairs in the fifth 
story! A window was half open, and the 
building was no sooner deserted than a little 
winged midget flew in, seated itself at John’s 
desk, took a pen, and began writing as for life ! 

Soon another flew in through the window, 
and another and another, swiftly and noise- 
lessly, until every chair in the large room was 
occupied with little imps, all scribbling with 
lightning rapidity ! In a moment attend- 
ant sprites put in an appearance, carrying 
manuscript from the various desks to the 
tube which communicated with the composing- 
room. 

And if drowsy Bill Thompson had chosen to 
peep into that composing-room, how he would 


124 


WITCHERY WAYS 


have rubbed his eyes ! On every stool stood 
a fairy type-setter, composing-stick in hand, 
pages of fairy manuscript before him, and the 
type seeming fairly alive under his nimble 
fingers. 

In one corner a set of little workmen were 
busily taking to pieces the newspaper on 
which John had so prided himself, which stood 
there in type, ready for the stereotyper. 
Grasping handful after handful, these tricksy 
fairies distributed the bits of metal into empty 
boxes. The types rattled into the cases faster 
and thicker than any hail in any storm that 
ever was. 

In another corner the foreman— a comical 
little fay with an important air and a pair of 
spectacles— was taking proof of the articles as 
fast as the compositors finished, sending the 
proof up the chute to an impish proof-reader 
who sat at a desk in the fifth story. 

What a hive of busy laborers, and all so 
silent! Goblin reporters kept flying in through 
the open window of the editorial room, dash- 
ing off an article at a desk, speeding away 
again over the dark city for fresh ideas. The 
fairy chief took a new j>en. The slide of the 
manuscript chute grew hot. Faster flashed 


WITCHERY WAYS 


125 


the fingers of the type-setters. The important 
foreman almost flew to pieces in his hurry. 

And then soon a fairy fire leaped up in the 
engine-room, the monster printing-press be- 
gan to revolve, and the great rolls of white 
paper rapidly received their impressions, 
were cut, pasted, folded, piled in a monster 
stack. And when, at one o’clock, the morn- 
ing workmen came, rubbing their eyes, to 
make the plates, and print the morning edition 
of the Neville Indicator, they found the build- 
ing as still as usual ; but the type was all in the 
cases. The imposing forms were hare. The 
great roll of paper was gone from the press. 
And, lo ! ready in piles for the newsboys, the 
fairy Indicator. 

WTiat was to be done? No time now to set 
up a second paper, to gather the editors, re- 
porters, compositors, and proof-readers. Evi- 
dently, though there might be mischief in it, 
this mysterious set of papers must go to the 
newsboys. And so it happened that when 
John, at his early breakfast-table, took up 
with eager glee the damp sheet which the 
newsboy had just thrown into the yard, 
he uttered an exclamation of surprised 
dismay. 


126 


WITCHERY WAYS 


“Why, what’s the matter, John!” cried 
Jennie. 

“ Matter enough ! I’m undone, Jennie! See 
here ! ’ ’ And John handed her the paper with 
a groan. 

In staring type at the head she read, “No- 
ville Indicator , Revised Edition.” The page 
looked very neat and clean, for it had none of 
the long, sensational head-lines which usually 
enticed people to read. Yet the articles were 
so brightly written that she found herself 
forced to finish the first, and then the second, 
and the third. John read over her shoulder. 

There was not a single account of a murder 
in the paper. John’s exclusive and thrilling 
details of the terrible railroad accident were 
boiled down to a few lines. The crime in high 
life and the disclosures regarding the crooked- 
ness of that eminent politician, on which John 
had relied to effect the day’s sales, were 
greatly condensed and in an obscure corner of 
the paper. 

The greater part of the paper was crowded 
with matter which looked startlingly novel. 
There was a long, well illustrated description 
of a set of miserable tenement-houses which 
lined an out-of-the-way city alley. One could 


WITCHERY WAYS 


127 


hardly read the article without a sob. There 
was a careful discussion of the matters which 
had come before the police courts the day be- 
fore— a discussion which tried to show what 
led to all these wrong deeds, and how affairs 
might be improved. There were accounts of 
city industries, and explanations of various 
departments of the city government. 

The different aid societies had full bulletins. 
There were several sparkling columns contain- 
ing the funny things that had happened the 
day before. Much was made of a certain old 
woman who, at the risk of her life, had 
snatched a little boy from before a runaway 
horse. A scientific lecture was given an en- 
tire page, being extravagantly illustrated. 
Fires, suicides, accidents, murders, burglaries, 
fights, races, scandals, were omittted, or men- 
tioned with the greatest brevity. Politics were 
discussed without prejudice, and yet with 
force and brilliancy. There was a whole page 
given up to interesting items concerning 
church work. And the foreign events of 
the day before really worth knowing about, 
were so ably set forth that one almost felt that 
he had been in those distant lands. 

“Ah, I’m ruined, Jennie !” groaned John. 


128 


WITCHERY WAYS 


4 4 This paper will never sell— not ten copies! 
Who could have put in this unheard-of stuff ! 
How can I ever look the proprietors in the 
face ! ’ ’ 

“Why, John,” said Jennie, looking up with 
sparkling eyes, only half understanding him, 
so closely had she been reading, “I’m proud of 
you! I never saw a nicer newspaper! I’m 
sure your supply will run out ! How did you 
get so many interesting articles?” 

Well, John kissed Jennie, and hurried away 
to the office with a sinking heart. But every 
one in the street-car seemed to be reading the 
Indicator. Newsboys were going around al- 
ready with flabby satchels. Those who had a 
few copies left were actually charging double 
price, and getting it, too ! It seemed to be the 
topic of discussion everywhere. ‘ ‘ So novel ! ’ ’ 
“So original!” “So bright!” “So good!” 
Every one was saying such words. Acquaint- 
ances came up to congratulate him on his bold 
departure. One of the most distinguished 
and influential men in the city took pains to 
stop him, and express his hearty approval. 
The wealthiest of the proprietors of the paper 
met him at the door of the Indicator counting- 
room, rubbing his hands and saying, “Never 


WITCHERY WAYS 


129 


were such sales, Mr. Hansom! The other 
papers can hardly dispose of a copy, and we 
are hard at work on a second edition! We 
must advance your salary, sir, at once ! ’ ’ 

John went to the editorial rooms with his 
head in a whirl. He found there a crowd of 
his reporters and sub-editors. They all began 
talking at once. “How did you do it?” 
“Where did it all come from?” “What are 
we to do to-day?” This last query came in 
very anxious tones from the sporting editor 
and the police court reporter. 

“Gentlemen,” said John, when the noise 
had subsided, “it’s all a mystery. You may 
smile, but I assure you I know nothing at all 
about the origin of this morning’s paper. I 
even suspected some of you of a plot to ruin 
me with it ! We have no time now to investi- 
gate the marvel. Evidently, the Revised Edi- 
tion has made a hit, and I propose that we fol- 
low it up. We have a hard day’s work before 
us, as the work is on such unusual lines. But 
I have perfect confidence in the skill and 
brains of the Indicator staff.” 

With this, he assigned them tasks, mapping 
out a paper as much like the success of the 
morning as he could, trying to follow its popu- 

q — W itchery Ways. 


130 


WITCHERY WAYS 


lar feature of emphasizing the good, and omit- 
ting the bad, except for purposes of bettering 
it. Of course, his trained reporters had hard 
work that day ; and, of course, the next issue of 
the Noville Indicator , Revised Edition, was 
not as good as the fairies’ number ; but it sold 
better, because people were now eagerly 
watching the new departure in journalism. 

And that was the beginning of a newspaper 
revolution. The other papers soon found that 
most people had been buying their literature 
simply because they couldn’t get what was 
better. They, too, began to issue Revised 
Editions. And now, in this year of our Lord 
1915, newspapers of the old style are cir- 
culated only on the sly, in saloons and such 
evil places, forbidden the mails, and hunted 
down by the Society for the Prevention of 
Crime. 

John and Jennie have long ago moved from 
their suburban cottage to a grand mansion, 
and people still insist on calling John Hansom 
the Revolutionizer of the Press. Pshaw ! If 
the fairies had waited for a man bold enough 
and wise enough to take the step, I fancy that 
the world would still have many decades of 
the old, degrading journalism ahead of it. 


WITCHERY WAYS 


XII 


DR. BRIGHT’S ALARM-CLOCK 

D R. BRIGHT was a worthy young man 
who had worked through the medical 
college with distinguished honor, and 
who knew everything contained in the dozen 
big, leather-bound doctor books which occu- 
pied the middle shelf of his small library. He 
had engaging manners, and a very charming, 
frank countenance; yet handsome face and 
well-stocked brain seemed utterly unable to 
win patients in the same town with Dr. Prate. 

Dr. Prate was also a young man. He was 
almost bald, wore glasses, and never used a 
little word when he could think of a big word 
of approximately the same meaning, nor an 
English word if he knew the Latin. He had a 
library of so many books that all of his nu- 
merous patients could write their names in the 
dust on the tops of them. 

One day Dr. Bright sat in his office with his 
head leaning on his hand, thinking rather 
gloomily of his one patient. This one patient 

131 


132 


WITCHERY WAYS 


was old Mrs. Grunt, who suffered terribly with 
rheumatism, and could not afford to pay Dr. 
Prate’s big fees. She had been under Dr. 
Bright’s care for three weeks now, with no 
good result, and was growing uglier toward 
him every day. 

As the doctor sat glowering at his boots the 
hell rang sharply, and he jumped up with his 
heart throbbing high. It might be a patient. 
But as he opened the door there stepped in 
briskly a little, wiry old man, with a fringe of 
gray heard meeting a fringe of gray hair, and 
with a shrewd twinkle back of his spectacles. 
He had a black satchel in his hand. Evidently 
a book-agent. 

“ Good-morning. Dr. Bright, I believe? 
Have heard of you, sir. We wish to put into 
the hands of every energetic young physician 
our new improved alarm-clock, patent applied 
for. It is an extraordinarily ingenious me- 
chanical contrivance, which not only rouses 
the medical practitioner at any hour of the 
day or night, hut also indicates distinctly and 
audibly at the same time the proper remedies 
to be administered in the cases the physician 
has then in charge. The only requirement is 
that the physician shall have spent at least 


WITCHERY WAYS 


133 


two hours in studying those cases, with the 
alarm-clock immediately in front of his 
books. ’ ’ 

Dr. Bright smiled good-naturedly at the 
joke, not without some faint suspicion of a 
gleam of insanity in the bright eyes of his 
visitor. “My health is good, sir, and I find 
no difficulty in going to sleep when I wish and 
waking up when I desire. And as I have 
never had but one patient whose case per- 
plexed me, I am not inclined to purchase your 
very ingenious clock.” 

The little old man winked impishly at this. 
“Wait till you hear my terms. I find myself 
suffering under a slight attack of indigestion. 
Now, if you will write me a prescription for 
indigestion caused by the overeating of green 
cucumbers, you may take a clock and wel- 
come. ’ ’ 

“Willingly,” replied Dr. Bright, whose 
suspicions as to his visitor’s sanity were now 
confirmed. However, he sat down and wrote 
a prescription for indigestion caused by eating 
green cucumbers, and handed it to the wiry 
old fellow, who immediately opened his large, 
red mouth and gulped down the paper. “I 
prefer to take my medicine in that way,” he 


134 


WITCHERY WAYS 


said, with a sly grin. ‘ ‘ And now, here is your 
pay.” 

With that he took from his satchel and gave 
to the doctor a very strange little image. It 
represented a spectacled old man, with a pon- 
derous wig, seated in front of a large study 
table, on whose top was described the clock 
face. In front of the old man was a pile of 
books, and he appeared deeply interested in 
their contents. 

‘ ‘ Take it, my young friend, and God’s bless- 
ing go with it,” said the goblin-like old man, 
and backed out of the room with a jerky how. 
Dr. Bright stepped quickly to the door, with 
a confused notion of detaining his light- 
headed visitor and putting him in some 
asylum or other. He looked up the street and 
down ; the street was deserted. In great 
amazement, he took a few paces in either di- 
rection, looking sharply around. It was a 
strange disappearance. 

There was nothing for it, however, but to 
return before the neighbors should begin to 
wonder at his queer proceedings. Dr. Bright 
was rather surprised to see the alarm-clock 
actually standing, ticking away, on his table. 
He had half expected that to disappear also. 


WITCHERY WAYS 


135 


He sat down in front of it. “Old fellow,’ ’ 
said he, “the days of witchery are said to be 
past, but Edison is a greater wizard than any 
of mediaeval times, and since I have nothing 
else to do, I ’ll play lunatic awhile, and try you 
on old Mrs. Grunt’s rheumatism. Old Mrs. 
Grunt’s rheumatism, do you hear?” He 
shouted in the ear of the ponderous-wigged 
image, and proceeded, with a cheerful smile, 
to set the alarm for three hours from that 
time. Then he drew down his books and 
magazines and papers, and, the clock in front 
of him, began, for the tenth time, a thorough 
study of the subject of rheumatism. 

Dr. Bright soon became absorbed in his 
work, entirely unmindful of the old gentleman 
opposite. He was getting several new ideas, 
and was intensely interested in following them 
out in his various authors. So the hours 
passed very rapidly, and the doctor was 
startled into a prodigious jump by the sharp 
clatter of the alarm-clock at the expiration of 
the time. 

After the whir, Dr. Bright, regarding the 
spectacled image intently, was astounded to 
see it slowly raise its head, and still more 
amazed to hear it say deliberately, in a very 


136 


WITCHERY WAYS 


tliin squeak: “Try her with salicylate cin- 
chonidia. ” Then the image bent again over 
its book. 

“Well, of all— ” began the doctor, and then 
broke out in a great hearty laugh. “Why, 
this out-Edisons Edison ! ’ ’ And he put on his 
hat and proceeded at once to call on old Mrs. 
Grunt, stopping at a drug-store on the way to 
obtain some little white lozenges of the sub- 
stance the marvelous image had indicated. 

He found Mrs. Grunt in a worse mood than 
ever, and inclined to refuse further treatment 
altogether. However, she accepted the lozenges 
ungraciously, and agreed to take them accord- 
ing to directions. And, strange to relate, the 
prescription of the old gentleman of the alarm- 
clock worked with magic efficiency. In a few 
hours old Mrs. Grunt was able to walk— a 
pleasure which had not been hers for months. 
And the very next day she was able to go 
about among her neighbors and tell them what 
a wonderful, won-der-ful doctor that young 
Bright was. 

This was the turn of the tide. Beneath Dr. 
Bright’s shingle from this time on passed a 
daily increasing number of the ailing, and the 
cheerful peal of his front door-bell was heard 


WITCHERY WAYS 


137 


with increasing frequency. Needless to say 
that till late at night, and through the dim 
hours of the morning, the young doctor and 
the mighty-wigged image held long meditation 
over the twelve big hooks and the medical 
journals. At the end of each studious session 
the timely whir would come, the spectacled 
head would he slowly lifted, and the figure 
would give sententious oracle. And the 
image’s prescriptions never failed. 

So popular was Dr. Bright becoming, and 
so many and such wealthy patients were flock- 
ing to his office, that Dr. Prate became seri- 
ously alarmed. “He was entirely incapaci- 
tated to comprehend the inordinate notoriety 
of this novus homo, this charlatan upstart.” 
Things became so bad, finally, from his point 
of view, that he determined on a visit of in- 
vestigation, a sort of reconnaissance of the 
enemy’s country. So he called at Dr. Bright’s 
office, intending to ask him to act as his assist- 
ant in an important case. 

The office happened to be deserted. Dr. 
Bright had been called suddenly, but would 
soon be back. So said the smart young office- 
boy whom the young man’s good fortune had 
enabled him to obtain. Therefore Dr. Prate 


138 


WITCHERY WAYS 


sat down in the easy-chair by the side of the 
great table thickly piled with open books, in 
the midst of reading which their owner had 
evidently been disturbed. But Dr. Prate was 
immediately attracted by our old friend the 
alarm-clock, directly opposite him, on the 
table. He looked at the queer image for some 
time before he discovered the clock face. He 
observed with some surprise that the alarm 
was set for three, of which it then lacked but 
a few minutes. Dr. Prate was examining with 
contemptuous interest a great heap of well- 
filled note-books, and wondering what his rival 
expected to gain from all that useless poring 
over medical literature, when he was some- 
what startled by the metallic whir of the 
alarm-clock. Looking up at it, he jumped 
from his chair in great fright as he saw the 
large head of the figure lifted, and heard in its 
sharp tones these words: 4 ‘Give him a good 
dose of valerian.’ ’ 

Dr. Prate recovered from his astonishment 
rapidly. His eyes became very bright, and a 
wicked smile crept into the corners of his 
mouth. He looked cautiously around. The 
office-boy was nowhere near, and the room was 
empty. So Dr. Prate quietly tucked the 



Witchery Ways 

‘“GIVE HIM A GOOD DOSE OF VALERIAN ’ ” 

139 





WITCHERY WAYS 


141 


alarm-clock under his coat and walked 
home. 

That night he went to a wine party, and 
came home late and jolly. He had some im- 
portant patients in charge, and should have 
been studying their cases, but now the alarm- 
clock would save him all that trouble. He 
chuckled as he set it for six o’clock the next 
morning. 

4 ‘ Now, old chappy, ’ ’ said he, nodding hilari- 
ously to the image bending over its books, 
“ study away all night, and in the morning tell 
me what is best for Mrs. Jones’s pneumonia, 
and Judge Dusky’s gout, and Peter Pound’s 
heart-disease. Understand? Tick it out, 
and wake me at six. Ta-ta.” So Dr. Prate 
went to bed, and slept soundly, with mind at 
rest. 

At six o’clock came the prompt whir, and 
Dr. Prate sleepily raised his head to catch the 
day’s instructions. “Whir-r-r,” went the 
clock, and then the image, lifting its head, 
sharply snapped out: 

“Get up! Get up! Lazybones! Doctor 
Lie-a-bed ! Doctor Muddlehead ! Get up ! 
Get your books ! Go to work ! ’ ’ 

“What consummate impudence!” drawled 


142 


WITCHERY WAYS 


the doctor, as he put his hands up to his aching 
head, rolled over on his pillow, and went to 
sleep again. In an hour the bright sunlight 
woke him up. He took his late breakfast, and 
then sat down in his office in front of the image 
which had so sadly disappointed him. 

4 4 Now, old fellow,” said he, as he set the 
alarm for eight o’clock, “I’ll give you just 
eight minutes to work up an opinion on Judge 
Husky’s gout. If you don’t behave yourself, 
I’ll smash you. I will, by the memory of 
Hippocrates!” 

Unfortunately, as Hr. Prate sat impatiently 
waiting and idly watching the clock, the office- 
door opened, and in walked unceremoniously 
his wealthiest and most influential patient, 
Senator Biggun. The doctor inquired his 
symptoms very nervously. He cast an anxious 
glance at the clock. With all his heart he 
wished it back in Hr. Bright’s office. He was 
trying to plan a way to draw Senator Biggun 
into the next room, when the clock began to 
whir. The old man in the big wig had never 
spoken so loudly and distinctly. 

“I belong to Hr. Bright. Hr. Prate stole 
me. Hr. Prate’s a quack. Hr. Prate’s a 
noddlehead. Hr. Prate never reads. Hr. 


WITCHERY WAYS 


143 


Prate never studies. Dr. Prate drinks wine. 
Down with Dr. Prate. Go to Dr. Bright.” 

It is impossible to describe the confusion of 
the convicted physician. His uneasy jokes and 
blundering explanations about the queer me- 
chanical toy, the ingenious application of the 
phonograph, to which he had been teaching 
some ridiculous phrases, all seemed to freeze 
his visitor more decidedly into an icicle. 
Senator Biggun soon bowed himself out, and 
Dr. Prate turned, with despair in his heart, to 
the image. 

6 ‘I ’ll give you a lesson in manners, my talk- 
ative sir. Come along !” And he picked the 
old gentleman up by the head, carried him 
into the back yard, laid him on a stone, and 
with one blow of the ax silenced the wonder- 
ful alarm-clock forever. 

Well, to end my story, though Dr. Bright 
was greatly alarmed at first, and dismayed, 
over the mysterious disappearance of the ac- 
commodating old gentleman in the wig, it 
really seemed to make no difference in his 
practice. He studied no harder, because he 
was studying as hard as possible before, and 
his prescriptions continued to be marvelously 
successful. His patients increased in number 


144 


WITCHERY WAYS 


so rapidly that he had to find a partner, an 
earnest young fellow, anxious like himself to 
do a great deal of good in this aching world, 
and they soon had such a thriving business 
that they were enabled to take two additional 
partners, whose names did not appear on the 
office-door. 

As for Dr. Prate, strange stories began to 
be told of him, his patients fell away rapidly, 
and one fine day he took down his nice gilded 
sign and put up another one : 4 4 Samuel Prate, 
Auctioneer. ’ ’ 


WITCHERY WAYS 


XIII 


TRICEPHALOS 

P OOR King Blunderbuss had a hard time 
of it. He did his best, but grew more 
unpopular every day. His people were 
very quarrelsome; and in settling their dis- 
putes, as a good king should, he had by this 
time made mortal enemies of half of them. 
The other half were exceedingly disrespect- 
ful, and in upholding the dignity of his throne 
King Blunderbuss had managed to offend half 
of this half. The remaining quarter were dis- 
pleased because the good King always treated 
them as strangers and never knew their names. 
Therefore, the King wished to resign his 
crown, but no one would have it. 

Affairs were in this condition when there 
appeared one day at court a very strange old 
man with three heads, who bore a letter of 
introduction from the son of King Blunder- 
buss. This son had been very successful at 
the kingdom business in a distant portion of 
the continent. 

jo- Witchery Ways. 


145 


146 


WITCHERY WAYS 


The letter read as follows : 

‘ ‘ To My Most Royal and Beloved Father : 

“Sire:— This will introduce to you a per- 
son who has enabled me to win what success 1 
have attained in our business of ruling. Judg- 
ing by your request that I accept your king- 
dom in addition to my own, I think that you 
will receive with gladness the friendly counsel 
of my most valued adviser, and so I send him 
to you. If you will follow his leading you will 
have no further desire to abdicate. With 
dutiful affection, 

“Demetrius, R.” 

The King looked with interest at the vener- 
able bearer of this epistle. 

“My son’s letter of introduction,” said he, 
“strangely omitted your name. May I know 
who you are, and what you can do for my 
miserable kingdom!” 

“I am Blankhead Tricephalos,” said the 
left head of the old gentleman, which had a 
very dreamy and sleepy expression, “and I 
will do your Majesty’s forgetting.” “I am 
Longhead Tricephalos,” said the cheery 
countenance which rose above the sage’s right 
shoulder, “and I will do your Majesty’s re- 


WITCHERY WAYS 


147 


memberi'ng. ’ ’ “ And I am Shorthead Triceph- 
alos,” said the center head briskly, “and 
I will do your Majesty ’s talking. If you will 
promise to do just as I say for two months, I 
will win back to you every heart in this na- 
tion. ’ ’ 

“Capital!” cried the King, rubbing his 
hands. 4 4 It will be a novel experiment at any 
rate 9 ’ ; and, turning to the throng of great men 
in his audience-room, he at once declared 
Tricephalos to be his Prime Minister pro tem. 

“And now, Tricephalos, what shall we set 
about first ? I am eager to begin . 9 9 

“Your Majesty will first journey to the 
kingdom’s end, visiting all your Majesty’s 
cities.” 

The King’s countenance fell. “You don’t 
know what a reception we’ll meet, Triceph- 
alos ! However, I promised, and I must obey 
you. We set off to-morrow.” 

On the morrow, therefore, a gorgeous train 
marched out of the capital city, to traverse the 
entire kingdom. The King and Tricephalos 
rode at the head. The peasants on the way 
scowled at them, and at the first town they 
reached— a town whose name was Hawlbor- 
ough— they were met only by a deputation of 


148 


WITCHERY WAYS 


barking dogs. People peered out of their 
doors and then shut them with a bang. The 
small boys hooted. 

The King’s lodging was soon beset by an 
army of the discontented, who wanted the 
King’s aid in all sorts of grievances. One 
was unjustly brought to trial; one was pur- 
suing a bad debt; one was denied admission 
to the army. All these Tricephalos presented 
to the King by name, and dismissed with a 
cheery smile, saying: “The King has at 
heart the good of all his subjects.” 

In the town there existed a quarrel of such 
magnitude that a town meeting had to be held 
to argue the matter before the King. One 
party wanted to build a town hall, and one 
party denounced the scheme as uneconomical. 
When the orators on both sides had made their 
pleas, in the presence of a great throng, there 
was a hush, in expectation of the King’s reply. 
Tricephalos, however, stepped forward and 
said: “Good people, his Majesty commis- 
sions me to inform you that he has the highest 
regard for public spirit.” Nothing more 
would he say. 

The next morning, as the King’s cavalcade 
left Hawlborough, his Majesty remarked : 



Witchery Ways 

“ALL THESE TRICEPHALOS PRESENTED TO THE KING” 

149 





WITCHERY WAYS 


151 


“Tricephalos, if I should return to Hawl- 
borough I think they would stone me. Is this 
the w r ay in which you propose to win back the 
hearts of my people?” To which the Prime 
Minister pro tem. made answer: “We shall 
see, your Majesty.” 

Next in their course they came to Schuylkill, 
and were received with still greater unkind- 
ness. On entering here, Tricephalos was even 
hit with a rotten egg, to the King’s great 
amusement. 6 ‘ I told you so , 9 9 said he. 

The throng of complainants about the 
King ’s rooms was introduced to the King and 
turned away by Tricephalos, as before, with 
the words, “His Majesty has at heart the good 
of all his subjects . 9 9 Here also reigned a town 
feud, and here also a great mass-meeting was 
held, to lay the matter before the King. A 
large public-school building was to be erected, 
and the orators on one side contended that it 
should be in the business portion of the town, 
so as to be central, and their opponents that 
it should be removed from the center, so as to 
be quiet. In suspense they awaited the King’s 
decision. But Tricephalos stepped forward 
and said: “Good people, his Majesty com- 
missions me to inform you that in his judg- 


152 


WITCHERY WAYS 


ment a public-scliool building should always 
be as accessible and quiet as possible.” 

And so they pleased no one at Schuylkill, 
but were nearly driven from the town by the 
people’s anger. 

i 6 Things are pretty bad, you see, Tricepli- 
alos , 9 9 remarked the King. 

“We shall see, your Majesty,” said the 
Prime Minister pro tem. 

And so they went on till they came to Liglit- 
ington, whose citizens were in a terrible up- 
roar about gas. As soon as the crowd of 
private suitors had been met by the King, and 
dismissed by his Minister with the customary 
assurance, “His Majesty has at heart the 
good of all his subjects,” a meeting was held 
here also, and one side urged the lighting of 
the streets on the ground of public safety, and 
the other opposed it as extravagant. Triceph- 
alos, as usual, made the response for which 
they were looking to King Blunderbuss: “I 
am commissioned by his Majesty, good peo- 
ple,” he said, “to inform you that he hopes 
that, as soon as his subjects can afford it, the 
streets of all his towns shall be lighted at 
night.” 

At this answer the people were so indignant 


WITCHERY WAYS 


153 


that the King’s party was obliged to leave in 
the night, to avoid unpleasant consequences. 

4 ‘How is this, Tricephalos, my sage coun- 
cilor?” mockingly asked the King, as they 
hurried away in the darkness. 

“We shall see, your Majesty,” replied the 
Prime Minister pro tem. 

The next town in their course was called 
Kwirekwarrel, and so disliked the King that 
the Mayor Sent asking his Majesty to refrain 
from a visit, since he feared a riot. But Tri- 
cephalos insisted on the usual program, which 
was carried out, even to the mass-meeting to 
discuss the town fend. Here it was especially 
violent, for it raged between the choirs of the 
churches of St. Cecilia and St. Agnes, each 
of which thought it had been mortally of- 
fended by the other. Half the town was on 
one side, and half in opposition. The Prime 
Minister pro tem. rendered the decision after 
the usual speeches. “His Majesty commis- 
sions me to tell you that he has the greatest 
respect for all singers whose business it is to 
produce harmony. ’ ’ 

The King and his train left that town in the 
next half-hour with a raging mob close upon 
them. 


154 


WITCHERY WAYS 


“This looks promising, my excellent Prime 
Minister pro tern.,” said the King, when they 
could ride at a quieter pace. 

“We shall see, your Majesty,” cheerily said 
Trieephalos. 

Well, in this way they passed through the 
entire kingdom. Everywhere they found dis- 
cord and hatred. Everywhere the strange 
Prime Minister pro tem. managed matters in 
the same unsatisfactory way. 

‘ 1 And now, ’ ’ said the King, after they had 
passed out of sound of the howling of the last 
town, “we have completed the circuit. What 
does the wise Trieephalos advise to do next? 
At this rate I am in danger of losing my royal 
head at this business of winning my subjects’ 
hearts . ’ 9 

“Next, sire,” said Trieephalos, coolly, “we 
must make the same circuit over again $ and 
here, an hour’s ride distant, is our first town— 
Hawlborough. ’ 9 

“Hawlborough!” said the horrified King. 
“Have you forgotten the barking dogs?” 

“Yes, I have forgotten all about them,” said 
Blankhead Trieephalos ; and this was the first 
thing he had said on the trip. 

“And that town hall? You surely remem- 


WITCHERY WAYS 


155 


ber that! And all those urgent private 
complaints ! ” 

“I have utterly forgotten them, sire,” said 
Blankhead. 

“Well!” exclaimed the amazed King, “you 
are certainly a stupid councilor! I risk my 
Jife to enter that town. Would the two months 
were over ! ’ 9 

But the aspect of Hawlborough appeared 
changed. People looked kindly upon the 
King. The workmen were already laying the 
foundation for a grand town hall. 

“You see, your Majesty,” said the Mayor 
to the King, “your words set us to wondering 
whether we really were public-spirited in our 
constant quarreling, and so we held a good- 
humored popular election, in which the hall 
people carried the day, and now both parties 
claim the honor of having originated the 
plan!” 

The King held a reception. By his side 
stood the shrewd Prime Minister, who, with 
his right head, of course, whispered to his 
master the name of each of the former suitors 
as they advanced, so that the King could call 
them cordially by name without waiting for a 
second introduction. As to their complaints, 


156 


WITCHERY WAYS 


they had all been attended to long ago by the 
proper officials. Tricephalos quietly called 
aside two or three of the most sensible, and 
investigated a few real grievances which he 
promised should be remedied at once. Every 
one was charmed, and most of all, the people 
whose names had been remembered, and a 
crowd gathered the next morning to bid the 
King an affectionate good-by. 

The King did not want to go to Schuylkill ; 
but Blankliead had forgotten all about the 
rotten egg and the school-feud, so on they had 
to go. A still more cordial reception was 
given them. They were taken to see a fine 
new school-building begun in a place which 
combined, as nearly as was possible, the acces- 
sibility and quiet which Tricephalos had ad- 
vised. 

“We had never thought of a compromise, 
your Majesty,” said the Mayor, “till your 
wisdom suggested it. ’ ’ 

Longhead Tricephalos was the King’s right- 
hand man at the crowded reception which fol- 
lowed, and every one was made to feel that the 
King had a personal interest in himself. As 
before, the Prime Minister pro tem. was able 
quietly to ferret out a few abuses and wrongs, 


WITCHERY WAYS 


157 


which Longhead carefully laid away to tell the 
King. So popular had his Majesty become at 
Schuylkill that he was escorted quite a dis- 
tance on his way by a brass band. 

It was the same in every town. The con- 
cise statement of general principles which 
Shorthead Tricephalos had boldly spoken had 
put matters in a new light, and set men to 
thinking of the folly of their quarreling. 
Blankhead Tricephalos had so completely for- 
gotten all disagreeable events that the King 
finally began even to doubt whether they had 
ever occurred. And Longhead Tricephalos, 
with his convenient memory of names, and of 
the few cases of real wrong, made every one 
feel that his Majesty really had at heart the 
good of his subjects. 

As, amid the hurrahs of his enthusiastic 
people, the good King returned to his capital, 
to which his newly won popularity had pre- 
ceded him, he turned to the sage triple-headed 
councilor and said: “ Tricephalos, you have 
done nobly. You are now no longer Prime 
Minister pro tempore , but Prime Minister in 
perpetuo.” 

“I thank you, sire, but I think by this time 
you have an inkling into the three most im- 


158 


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port ant duties of any man— fit talking, fit re- 
membering, fit forgetting. My mission is ac- 
complished, and I now beg your Majesty’s 
leave, and disappear.” 

This he did, to the amazement of every one. 
But the King had thoroughly learned from 
the mysterious Tricephalos how to win and 
keep the hearts of his people. 


WITCHERY WAYS 


XIV 


SCHOOL-ROOM WITCHERY 

A DULL school-room. Eyes wandering 
and hands lying listless. A cross school- 
room. Here and there close-pressed 
lips and faces flushed with anger. A mis- 
chievous school-room. Paper wads flying, sly 
nudges, malicious squeaking of slate-pencils. 

As a matter of course, a dull schoolma ’am. 
Miss King’s eyes are weary, her head is 
aching. A cross schoolma’am. Her words 
are wiry and quick. A discontented school- 
ma’am. “Oh, for one of the old witches at 
my service! How pleasant it would be to 
charm these children into quiet, into shame, 
and obedience ! ’ ’ 

As Miss King thought this, behold, the door 
suddenly opened, and in it stood old Mother 
Kipperton, her bright scarlet shawl over her 
shoulders and her little black dress, her black 
eyes flashing through her spectacles. She 
lived in a lonely house at the back of the 
woods, and called children to her door to give 

159 


160 


WITCHERY WAYS 


them cookies. They took the cookies, but they 
never dared enter, because Mother Kipperton 
had a black cat, and such very black eyes. 

The little woman spoke quietly: “May I, 
too, come to school, Miss King?” 

Without waiting reply, she sat down at a 
desk in a dark corner, by the side of Maria 
Kitchel, snuggling up to her as the frightened 
girl moved away, and bending over her geog- 
raphy with her. 

Even dull Billy Jackson is roused to look 
around, his weak blue eyes staring widely. 
Even nervous Sukey Miles stops wriggling, 
and peers uneasily at the mysterious visitor. 
Even mischief -loving Tommy Crass forgets 
his attempt at pinioning to his desk the curls 
of the girl in front, in his interest in the 
stranger. Even Miss King herself, for the 
moment, loses thought of her aches, her wor- 
ries, and her discontent. 

She nods pleasantly toward Mother Kipper- 
ton, and continues the recitation somewhat 
more briskly. 

“If six apples cost twelve cents, how much 
will ten apples cost?” 

They will cost— they will cost— if ten apples 
cost six cents,— or twelve cents,— 


WITCHERY WAYS 


161 


Back into the old rut again. For Mother 
Kipperton keeps very still, and the children 
one by one forgot her presence. Billy Jack- 
son returns to vacant, blurred vision of his 
speller. Sukey Miles begins to twist over her 
Fourth Reader. Tommy Crass succeeds in 
his pinioning operations. Even Maria Kitchel 
begins to make her lips move as she reads, 
1 ‘Brazil is the only empire in South America. 
Its capital is— ” for the geographies of Dis- 
trict No. 6 are not up with the times. 

Hum, buzz, slates dropped with a clatter, 
scraping of uneasy feet, dogged droning of 
the arithmetic class. 

Miss King’s eyes smart again, her head 
aches, her' tongue recovers its sharpness. 
“What’s eight times twelve, Sammy? You 
ought to know eight times twelve. Come, 
now. Don’t be so stupid!” 

Yes, Sammy thinks eight times twelve’s 
seventy-two, Miss King. 

Oh, if Mother Kipperton were really a 
witch ! If she would only point a long finger 
at this great, stupid farmer’s boy, and flash 
from its tip some life into his flat features, 
and some spirit into his soggy brain ! 

What ! What ! Miss King felt herself be- 

ii— Witchery Ways. 


162 


WITCHERY WAYS 


coming larger and heavier. Her hands grew 
clumsy and calloused and her skin became 
stifling with sunburn. Her head seemed hot, 
* and her brain helpless, groping. She was 
great Sammy Bolton, standing stupidly at the 
blackboard ! And before her at the teacher’s 
desk was Sammy, small and fine, little fingers 
nervously twisting a pencil, every muscle of 
the clear-skinned face drawn tense as his shrill 
voice cried: “Eight times twelve, Sammy? 
Come, think!” 

Think! Miss King feels herself flounder- 
ing hopelessly about between three long col- 
umns of figures, as if they were three black 
ditches. Think ! But what to think of ? 

Sammy has an emotion never felt in 
his slowly moving life before,— the tiger 
feeling, of one who would like to spring and 
clutch. 

It is over in an instant. Black eyes twitch 
from behind great glasses out of Maria 
Kitchel’s dark corner. Miss King is back 
again in her chair and Sammy is back 
again at the blackboard. A strange fancy! 
A sudden day-dream ! Y et the schoolma ’am ’s 
voice is milder. 

“Well, Sammy, that’s pretty hard, to be 


WITCHERY WAYS 


163 


sure. Study your ‘eights,' and tell me in a 
few minutes. ' ' 

And Sammy speaks out, “Oh, now I know, 
Miss King! It's ninety-two!" 

Not right, to be sure, but how briskly he 
said it ! And the school plods on, hum, buzz, 
clatter, scrape, arithmetic down and Fourth 
Reader forward. 

Oh, how Sukey Miles squirms and twists to- 
day! Not still on the bench for a second, 
jostling her neighbor, swinging her feet, 
whirling her book. How nervous it makes 
Miss King ! Dear me ! if she had some witch's 
charm, to make those quivering limbs quiet for 
a moment ! 

“Can’t you sit still, Sukey?" 

What ! What ! The schoolma 'am is little, 
oh, so little ! Her feet will not touch the floor, 
and the blood is uncomfortable in them. They 
twitch. They wriggle. A fly is buzzing at her 
ear, and fidgeting her nearly into fits. Every 
muscle cries for movement. She must run. 
She must leap. She must fling up her arms 
and scream. She is Sukey, twisting on the 
bench and saying, “Yes, ma'am!" 

And Sukey? Her eyes smart. Her head 
aches. She is languid and weak. She wants 


164 


WITCHERY WAYS 


to lie down somewhere and rest. Her F onrth 
Reader is heavy, and she lets it fall to her lap 
as she scolds, “Why, you are wriggling even 
now, Sukey ! ’ ’ for she is the schoolma ’am. 

Just a moment. Black eyes snap, looking 
up with a smile from the side of Maria 
KitchePs geography, and Sukey and Miss 
King are back again, just as before. No, not 
quite, for Miss King says, more kindly, “You 
may stand up to read to-day, Sukey.” And 
Sukey actually stands on both feet, and quite 
properly, as she goes through the first verse of 
the “Psalm of Life.” 

But what can be going on over there by the 
window! Sly glances, suppressed smiles, a 
whiff of tittering, a red-faced girl, a studious 
boy behind. 

“What is the matter, Ellen!” 

4 4 1 can ’t move my head, ma ’am. My hair ’s 
got fast. ’ ’ 

Miss King goes down the aisle. Yes, brown 
curls are securely bound to the bench with 
bent pins. 

“Tommy Crass, didn’t you do this!” 

Tommy looks fixedly at his grammar. He 
pushes the toes of his boots against the iron 
desk-legs. His face becomes red, like Ellen’s. 


WITCHERY WAYS 


165 


Miss King waits. What a provoking hoy! 
Always up to some trick or other! If she 
were a witch, now, wouldn’t she like to teach 
him a lesson ? 

Again ! Again ! Miss King in copper-toed 
boots, hands thrust into big pockets, uneasily 
grasping marbles, knife, forbidden apple. A 
sense of injury in her mind. Lessons all 
learned. Nothing to do. So tine outdoors, 
fish in the brook, butterflies in the air. What’s 
the use of going to school, anyway? What’s 
the use of scolding when a fellow has a little 
fun? Wish I could run away and be an In- 
dian trapper! 

Tommy the schoolma’am standing, waiting. 
So tired ! So tantalized ! Ready to cry, 
ready to scold. Will this obstinate boy never 
speak? Will he never learn to love me, to 
obey me ? 

Ah! Ah! Only a jiffy. Black eyes flash 
their command from Maria Kitchel’s desk. 
Tommy again on his seat, Miss King again in 
the aisle. But a mysterious change. 

“Well, Ellen, never mind. Here, I’ll free 
you. Tommy won’t do it again, will you, 
Tommy? And it’s almost recess-time, 
Tommy!” 


166 


WITCHERY WAYS 


And Tommy’s voice is gentlemanly, and he 
straightens np in his seat. “No, Miss King; 
I won’t; I’m sorry.” 

A stir in Maria Kitchel’s corner. Old 
Mother Kipperton rises to go. The black 
eyes and the big glasses turn full on the school- 
ma’am. The red shawl and little black dress 
make a queer courtesy. ‘ ‘ Good-by, Miss King. 
May I come again?” 

“ Yes, please do!” cries the schoolma’am, 
with a heartiness that astonishes her. 

A bright school-room. Eyes intent and 
busy hands. A cheery school-room. Here 
and there a smile, or a cheek dimpling with 
pleasure. An industrious school-room. Leaves 
eagerly turned, slate-pencils flying swiftly. Of 
course, a bright schoolma’am. Miss King’s 
eyes are shining, her head is clear. A kind 
schoolma’am. Her words come loving and 
gentle. A happy schoolma’am. “Oh, what 
witchery is love’s! How pleasant it is to 
charm these dear children into quiet, into joy- 
ful obedience ! ’ ’ 


WITCHERY WAYS 


XV 


JACK AND JESOP’S JACKDAW 

4 4 IT ELEN RICHARDSON, do yon keep 
your promises ? ” 

“Why, yes, of course, Jack— when 
I can,” said Helen, rather doubtfully, for she 
suspected that her brother meditated some in- 
road upon her time, and the Little Women 
were very charming just then. “I’ve not 
promised you anything lately, have I ? ” 
“Well, Miss Richardson, allow me to re- 
mind you that when I whitened the lines on 
the tennis-court for your last party, you prom- 
ised solemnly that you would help me out of 
my next scrape, didn’t you? I had to pay 
ten cents for the lime, and got it all over my 
clothes, and it took mother one hour to clean 
them. And now am I to get nothing for all 
that trouble?” 

“Well, what do you want?” asked Helen, 
regretfully laying “Miss Alcott” aside, for a 
promise was a promise, and she was planning 
a second tennis-party. 


167 


168 


WITCHERY WAYS 


4 ‘Here it is,” said Jack, without more ado, 
pulling a crumpled, dirty manuscript from his 
pocket. “It’s my composition, you know, for 
the High School Literary Society to-night. 
And I ’m disgusted with it. I want you to help 
me.” 

“Read what you’ve written,” demanded 
Helen, with a despairing glance at Jack’s 
hieroglyphics, and her brother proceeded to 
read: 

The Bicycle is a Machine for Getting over 
the Ground in a Hurry with. As to this it is 
like the Pony, but the Latter costs more to 
Support. For the Former does not Eat any- 
thing but Sperm Oil, and a new Crank or 
Spoke or So once in a While. In learning to 
Ride the Bicycle the Important Point is to 
Preserve your Ecuelibreum. For if the 
Ecuelibreum is not Preserved, the Conse- 
quences are a Header. A Header is where 
the Hind Wheel is Exalted, and the Conse- 
quences are a Decline and Fall of the Bicycler. 
The Cause is usually a Loose Stone, or a Rut, 
or Attempting to Tip your Hat on the Wheel, 
which is perrillous. In riding the Bicycle the 
Road Hog is Frequently Fallen in with. The 


WITCHERY WAYS 


169 


Road Hog is a Being Which owns the Uni- 
verse and Drives in the Middle of it and won’t 
let yon get By. The Celeschal Chineze say 
that before yon get to Heaven you have to 
cross a very Deep Ditch on a very Narrow 
Bridge. And I think that every Road Hog 
ought to be met on that Bridge by every other 
Road Hog and be Crowded oft to Stay in the 
Ditch Forever and Ever. When you can get 
On and Dismount without a Header he is a 
Bicycler. But when you can Coast and ride 
Hands Off he is a Bicyclist. It is a good Plan 
to have one Pair of Trowsers to ride in while 
your Mother is mending the Other. The Bi- 
cycle is the Greatest Triumph of Modern 
Engineuity. 

“Why, that isn’t bad. Jack,” said Helen, 
laughing. 

“Oh, well! but you know it sounds simple. 
Bob Jenkins is going to have a composition on 
Liberty and Civilization, and Will Chambers 
on Poetry and Philosophy. Can’t you help 
me put some poetry and philosophy into mine 1 
Come, now ! you promised. ’ ’ 

‘ 4 But it wouldn ’t be your composition, J ack, 
if I wrote it.” 


170 


WITCHERY WAYS 


“I don’t want yon to write it. I only want 
you to give me some ideas, and I ’ll write them 
up. Come! You can, you know, easily 
enough. ’ ’ 

4 6 Your last sentence might do, Jack,” said 
Helen, scanning the composition critically. 
“Suppose you take for your subject, ‘The Me- 
chanical Marvels of the Nineteenth Cen- 
tury?’ ” 

“Good for you, Helen ! Why, that’s splen- 
did! Wait till I write it down.” And Jack 
hastily produced the pencil and paper which 
he had thoughtfully provided, and fell to 
scribbling. Meanwhile, Helen became ab- 
sorbed again in Little Women. 

“Well, what next?” asked Jack, after wait- 
ing respectfully a moment or two. 

“I gave you your subject, Jack. You said 
you would do the writing. ’ ’ 

“I will. But give me some idea how to 
start the thing. Come, now! Just tell me 
how to write the first sentence. ’ ’ 

“Begin it in this way,” said Helen hastily, 
seeing that dictation was the shortest way 
back to Little Women — “ What a trans- 
formation has occurred to civilization from 
the days of the wooden plow to the days 


WITCHERY WAYS 


171 


of the locomotive !— and just go on in that 
fashion.” 

“Yes,” said Jack doubtfully, and labor- 
iously wrote down that sentence, then fumbled 
with his pencil for five minutes more, while 
Helen finished her chapter and began another. 
Grown desperate, at last he cried : 

“Helen! where is your promise? You said 
you would help me. You’ll see how I fix your 
old tennis-court the next time!” 

“Jack Richardson, do you want me to write 
that composition entirely ? 7 9 

“No, but I want another suggestion. What 
ought to come next to the locomotive ? 7 7 

It would take too long to repeat the spas- 
modic conversation by means of which enough 
“ suggestions 7 7 were extorted from Helen to 
make the following composition. J ack copied 
it carefully, with many a blot, from his 
hastily-written notes : 

What a Transformation has Occurred to 
Civilization from the Days of the Wooden 
Plow to the days of the Locomotive. The 
Pianno Fort discourses Sweet Harmony and 
the Soing Machine Fashions Garments with 
Incredable Rapidity and Promptitude. The 


172 


WITCHERY WAYS 


Bicycle is the Greatest Triumph of Modern 
Engineuity. It goes with a crank. The 
Humane Speech is Transported over a Conti- 
nent with a Rapidity of the Flashing Light- 
ening. If the Bearings squeek it’s a Sign 
they need Oil. Vollumes are Proddused from 
the Press and Broadcast. And Typewriters. 
And the Assassinasshun of the Zcsar of 
Russha is Read at our Breakfast Tables. I 
Read in a Newspaper the Other Hay that a 
Bicycle Rider had been Reported to the 
Society for Cruelty to Animals for Making the 
Little Wheel work so Hard to keep up with the 
Big one. What Ekstasy to ride Fourth in the 
Dew of the Rising Orb of Day on the Bicycle 
and Contemplate the Beauties of Nature? 
The Swimming Clouds through the Distant 
Blue the Gorgeous Bow of Promise the Re- 
sounding Thunder. These all seem to Say to 
the Eye of Intellek To Him who in the Love 
of Nature Holds. But I once Tried to See 
some Seenery on a Bicycle it was a white Cow 
with a Black Eye and there was a Stick in 
the Road and I could not Ride for a Month. 

Jack finished the last word with a sigh of 
satisfaction just as the supper-bell rang. He 


WITCHERY WAYS 


173 


ate the meal in haste and hurried to his room 
to dress for the society meeting. Before be- 
ginning that difficult and much-dreaded opera- 
tion, he sat down to read over the new compo- 
sition, to get accustomed to the strange words. 
It was very warm, and he soon became 
drowsy. He was half nodding over the paper 
when something happened which caused him 
to open wide his eyes in great astonishment. 
Through the open window, with one sweep of 
soft, black wings, flew a big bird, and perched 
solemnly on the table before him. 

“Well, I never!” exclaimed Jack, as his 
visitor nodded sedately and extended a claw in 
salutation. i 6 Who are you you ? ’ ’ 

“I am .Esop’s Jackdaw,” replied the bird, 
in a very strange, croaking voice. 

“What’s .Esop’s Jackdaw?” asked Jack, 
totally forgetting his manners, which was no 
wonder. 

“^Esop’s Jackdaw, my dear boy, once be- 
came envious of some beautiful peacocks, and 
foolishly gathered some of their cast-off feath- 
ers, stuck them in among his own, and strutted 
forth expecting the world’s admiration. But, 
my son, HCsop’s Jackdaw got home with 
scarcely all of his own feathers, to say nothing 


174 


WITCHERY WAYS 


of his ridiculous, borrowed plumage. Your 
name also is Jack, I understand ?” 

“Why, yes, sir!” stammered Jack, . in 
utmost bewilderment. 

“Well, then, I have come to help you dress 
for the society meeting. ’ ’ 

“Thank you, sir,” said Jack politely, “but 
I can dress very well by myself, if you 
please. ’ ’ 

For answer the strange bird made a queer 
flip with his wings, and there fluttered down 
upon the table something pink and shining. 
It was the waist of Helen’s new silk gown. 

“Take off your coat,” said iEsop’s Jack- 
daw, 4 4 and put that on ! ” 

“But that isn’t my clothes,” objected Jack. 

“Whose composition is that?” asked the 
bird, giving a sly glance at the paper before 
him and a sharp one at Jack. 

4 4 Mine, ’ ’ said J ack, boldly. 4 4 I wrote every 
word of it.” 

“With pen and ink, you mean,” answered 
his visitor. “Now, you put on this waist, and 
it will be your garment, for you put it on, you 
know ! ’ ’ 

4 4 But Helen didn ’t help me very much. She 
only suggested. And I wrote at least one 


WITCHERY WAYS 


175 


third of it all by myself,” stuttered Jack, who 
began in terror to see the point. 

‘ ‘ Very well. You shall wear only a sugges- 
tion of her clothes, then. You may keep half 
of your own.” 

4 4 1 won ’t do it ! ” cried J ack. 

i ‘ What!” exclaimed HCsop’s Jackdaw 
fiercely. And he swelled up to thrice his 
former size, his eyes glowing like coals, and 
every feather rose. “Boy, put on that pink 
silk waist ! ’ ’ 

“I will, sir! I will, at once!” said Jack 
hastily, throwing off his jacket and squeezing 
himself into the dainty silken garment. His 
heart sank as he saw the pretty lace ruffles 
around his hands. 

“Now, take off your boots,” was the next 
command, and as Jack obeyed, Helen’s best 
kid slippers mysteriously appeared, high- 
heeled, satin-tied, and into them he thrust his 
feet. 

“Now, these,” ordered the Jackdaw, point- 
ing to a pair of long, white kid gloves, Helen’s 
especial pride. 

Jack’s heart sank indeed at that. “I can’t 
do it! What will the boys say!” But it 
needed only a glance at the stern visitor to 


176 


WITCHERY WAYS 


cause him to make all haste to crowd his warm 
hands into the tight abominations. This done, 
he looked at them in disgust, with tears in his 
eyes. 

But what is this Jack sees next? What 
tangle of artificial flowers and flying ribbons 
and delicately braided straw? Helen’s sum- 
mer hat! The mirror was before him, and 
Jack gave one despairing glance at his ri- 
diculous image therein, thought of the crown- 
ing absurdity of that hat above his freckled 
countenance, and sat down on the bed blubber- 
ing vigorously. 

- Mack! Jack! it’s almost time for the 
society meeting. Are you nearly ready?” 
This came from Helen at the foot of the stairs. 

“No! I’m not going! I won’t go!” cried 
Jack, springing up in determination. 

But lo! No bird is perched on the table. 
The room contains no living being except him- 
self. And to his inexpressible relief, on look- 
ing down, he finds his own jacket and boots, 
and hands unadorned with gloves. It has 
been all a dream. 

‘ ‘ I mean, ’ ’ he shouted quickly , 1 ‘ I mean I ’m 
almost ready. I’ll come soon!” and set to 
work to put on his Sunday clothes. 


WITCHERY WAYS 


177 


Attired in his best at length, a little late, 
and much flushed with the rapidity of his 
dressing, our young gentleman descended the 
stairs, and made his way to the High School 
Literary Society. And the manuscript that 
lay in his inner coat-pocket, just over the rapid 
beatings of his heart, was not headed, “The 
Mechanical Marvels of the Nineteenth Cen- 
tury,’ ’ but was his own honest, bright and 
sensible composition, which won the praise of 
the superintendent, while Bob Jenkins’s essay 
on “Liberty and Civilization,” and Will 
Chambers’s composition on “Poetry and Phi- 
losophy” received from him only a frown of 
disapproval. 

“And why didn’t you read the composition 
I helped you write ? ’ ’ asked Helen, after they 
got home. 

“Because of iEsop’s Jackdaw,” replied 
Jack, and that was all he ever told her. 


12 — Witchery Ways. 

































































WITCHERY WAYS 


XVI 


FINE WEATHER ALL THE TIME 

N OTHING troubled Prince Crownling so 
much as the weather. But that isn’t 
saying much, because the weather 
troubled him greatly and all the time. It was 
seldom just right, neither too wet nor too dry, 
too warm, too cold, too dark, nor too sunny; 
and when it wasn’t just right, Prince Crown- 
ling was a very disagreeable boy to have in 
the palace. Dear me! how he fretted, and 
how insolent he was to the Lord High Cham- 
berlain and the ladies in waiting ! 

At last his indulgent father, King Easy, 
could endure this no longer, and hunted out 
for the prince a wise old gentleman who was a 
Wizard of the Weather. 

For a year all went charmingly. The 
Wizard of the Weather set it to raining or 
shining, freezing or scorching, at the will of 
the small prince. To be sure, the fine ladies 
of the court would often dress in winter furs 
only to step out into midsummer. To be sure, 

179 


180 


WITCHERY WAYS 


the poor farmers of the realm were sadly con- 
fused about planting. But Prince Crownling 
had ceased his ugly fretting, so that all were 
happy. 

In the midst of this general satisfaction the 
old wizard died. Now what was to be done? 
Prince Crownling immediately relapsed into 
his fits of bad temper, and life was hardly 
worth living about the court. And, of course, 
with all the great folk cross, it went hard with 
the people. So King Easy advertised straight- 
way for another Wizard of the Weather. 

It was not long before the candidates began 
to appear. The first came on a very stormy 
day, whose rain and clouds had sent the prince 
into the darkest blues as soon as he awoke. 
1 1 Make trial of your art at once ! ’ ’ commanded 
King Easy. “Take the prince out for a 
pleasant walk!” And every one chuckled at 
the prospect of getting rid of the prince for a 
little while. 

The candidate bowed, took from his wiz- 
ard’s chest a magic umbrella, and asked 
Prince Crownling to follow him. At the pal- 
ace entrance he raised the umbrella and held it 
over the prince. 

* ‘ Ah ! Ah ! ’ 9 and Prince Crownling, with a 


WITCHERY WAYS 


181 


laugh of boyish delight, walked eagerly out 
into the storm. 

For there was no storm, to one who stood 
under the magic umbrella. From under that 
wonderful covering the sky seemed blue and 
smiling, the air clear, no rain, no clouds, a 
perfect day. 

They walked on for several miles, the candi- 
date and the prince, admiring the loveliness 
of the scenery, and praising the mystical 
umbrella. 

“You shall be Wizard of the Weather,” 
Prince Crownling promised. “And now, 
isn’t it time to go back? I am getting tired.” 

But just then something happened. 

The storm, pouring down outside the magic 
umbrella, for some time had been increasing 
in violence, and the candidate had had diffi- 
culty in holding the umbrella over the prince ; 
but as they turned to go back a sudden gust 
caught its silken folds, turned them inside out, 
wrenched the handle from the candidate’s 
grasp, and blew the magic umbrella far away, 
leaving the two exposed to the worst storm 
of the season, three miles from the palace ! 

What a change, from that magic, sunshiny 
landscape, to the blustering, drenching real- 


182 


WITCHERY WAYS 


ity ! Prince Crownling began to run, scolding 
the poor candidate with what breath he had to 
spare. 

The Wizard followed him awhile, until he 
thought of the possible consequences of his 
failure, when he slyly turned off on a side 
road and the prince saw him no more. 

The second candidate arrived on one of 
those cloudless, blinding days, when the mid- 
summer’s sun pours down such a glare of light 
that people with weak eyes, like Prince 
Crownling, can only pull down the window- 
shades and mope in the dark. You may be 
sure that had been a hard day for all the 
court, and when the second candidate ap- 
peared they were quick to send their young 
tyrant out for another walk. 

As they left the palace the wizard gave the 
prince a pair of spectacles, which the prince 
put on. ‘ 1 Marvelous ! ” he cried ; ‘ ‘ glorious ! ’ ’ 

It was a parched season, the flowers hanging 
wilted, the grass white with dust, leaves 
shriveling on the hot trees. 

But the wonderful spectacles changed 
everything. Through their clear crystal the 
prince had visions of springtime. The flowers 
lifted their heads, and took on all the fresh- 


WITCHERY WAYS 


183 


ness of their early coloring. The grass was 
bright and soft. The leaves hung in rich 
clusters. Everywhere a new life seemed 
springing. And there was nothing of that 
fierce midsummer glare, but a pleasant, soft 
light, as if a thin cloud were passing over the 
sun. 

The prince walked on, enchanted; on and 
on, until he began to tire. ‘ 1 This is enough ! ’ ’ 
he cried. ‘ 4 You shall he Wizard of the 
Weather. Let us go home.” 

But unluckily then the candidate noticed 
that the magic spectacles had become dirty. 
“Let me wipe them, your Highness,’ ’ he said, 
“so that your return may be as pleasant as 
your coming hither. ’ 9 And whether the 
candidate was careless, or nervous, or awk- 
ward, I cannot tell, hut in cleaning the glasses 
he let them fall, and there they lay, broken 
into a thousand bits ! 

The prince had covered his eyes, to keep out 
the sudden flash of light that followed the re- 
moval of the spectacles. At the crash he 
looked to see what had happened, and was 
quick enough to see the candidate making off 
as fast as his legs could carry him, leaving him 
to find his way home alone, through all that 


184 


WITCHERY WAYS 


blinding sunlight. Prince Crownling reached 
the palace with flaming eyes and a yet more 
fiery temper, and there was no peace in the 
palace for a week. 

These failures so discouraged the wizards 
that it grew to be midwinter before another 
made the attempt. This third candidate came 
on the coldest day of the year. Of course, 
Prince Crownling, for all his furs and his fires, 
was shivering and peevish. He wanted to go 
out of doors, but the icy wind stung him on 
nose and ears, and his feet soon felt like lumps 
of ice. 

“Take him for a walk, good Wizard,” cried 
the poor, tormented King, rubbing his hands 
in glee. 

The candidate threw over the shoulders of 
the prince a slight cape, and bade him face 
the north wind without fear. The prince 
hung back, but had hardly taken a dozen steps 
before he leaped and shouted with delight. 
From the magic cape came a warmth, a mag- 
nificent glow, which spread over his entire 
body. It gave him a new and fine sensation. 
His blood began to course eagerly. His spirits 
rose, and he wanted to roll in the snow-drifts 
and open arms to the north wind, and plunge 


WITCHERY WAYS 


185 


into the icy current of the river. A bold, fiery 
life seemed to fill his body. He ran in his 
glee, on and on, until the wizard had to beg 
him to stop. 

i ‘Haven’t you had enough of it for the pres- 
enfi your Highness ?” 

“No! No ! I could run around the earth ! 
I could swim to the North Pole ! You shall be 
Wizard of the Weather ! Hurrah! Hip-hip- 
liip-hip— ” 

But just then the north wind, which for the 
last half-mile had been fussing and twisting 
at the button of the magic cape, accomplished 
his mischievous design. The cape flew open, 
flew off, and the wizard could hear the north 
wind crying, 4 ‘ Ha ! ha ! ha ! ’ ’ as he carried it 
away down to the equator. 

The prince looked after it, dazed. Then he 
began to shiver and shake. Then he began to 
cry. 

The candidate had run after the cape, and 
was out of sight. Oh, how the north wind 
stung! And the snow-drifts, how cold they 
were! How his legs ached! Could he ever 
go back those long miles he had traveled so 
exultantly? I really think the prince would 
have frozen to death there if the King, 


186 


WITCHERY WAYS 


alarmed at his long absence, had not sent at- 
tendants to find him and carry him home. 

After this, slight hope was left in the court. 
January became February, and February be- 
came March, and spring began to hint at the 
wonders in store for men, but no more candi- 
dates came, and the prince was growing abso- 
lutely unendurable. Besides, the old King 
was failing in health, and a dreadful fear 
seized everybody. What would they do when 
Prince Crownling ascended the throne ? 

Plots of revolutions were springing up on 
all sides, when, very unexpectedly, a fourth 
candidate came on the scene. 

This wizard was very different from the 
rest. He wore no long cloak, strangely 
adorned with cabalistic emblems. He carried 
no wand, and had no pointed turban or long 
white beard. He was simply a very nice look- 
ing young gentleman, in plain and serviceable 
clothes. 

“You a wizard?” asked the King in aston- 
ishment. 

“No, your Majesty,” replied the newcomer, 
“but I know how to make it fine weather all 
the time, and I will succeed with the prince, 
if you will try me for a month. ’ ’ 


WITCHERY WAYS 


187 


There was a modest confidence about this 
fourth candidate which pleased everybody and 
made everybody believe in him. The King 
gave him permission to associate with the 
prince for a month. 

And now it would take a long time to tell the 
story of that month. When the candidate 
took the prince out for a walk, as he often did, 
he took no magic umbrellas or spectacles or 
capes. He dressed the prince warmly if it 
was cold, and gave him rubber boots if it 
was wet, but let him face the weather as it 
was. 

But how that young man did talk ! He 
would tell the prince about the rain, how it 
started on the distant mountain-tops and 
found its way, by rills and torrents and rivers, 
to the broad surface of the ocean; how the 
warm tropic sun lifted it into the clouds and 
carried it over the palace-grounds, and let it 
gently down. 

He would pull up a little flower, just begin- 
ning to grow, and show him the tiny roots, 
groping around in the dark for food and 
water. He told him how the first small leaves 
that peep timidly from the ground are built 
up into the mighty forest-trees. He taught 


188 


WITCHERY WAYS 


him liow to name these trees, and the many 
spring flowers then beginning to bloom. 

He introduced him to the insects, the birds, 
the fishes; set him to watching the spider 
spinning in the sunshine and the mole at work 
in wet weather. He gave him many kinds of 
seeds, and helped him plant them in neat beds, 
to watch their magical unfolding. He showed 
him the rocks weathering into soil, the soil 
brought down into the valleys by the hillside 
streams, to be compacted, after long ages, into 
rock again. All this, and a thousand times 
more, he told the prince. 

Now Prince Crownling was not a bad boy. 
Like all boys, he wanted something to 
think about and to do, and since he had 
nothing else to occupy him, he had turned his 
mind to fretting and ugliness. But the fourth 
candidate soon won his heart. The prince 
learned to delight, with the flowers, in the 
fresh showers. He learned to hail, with the 
birds, the rising sun. He saw that there was 
no kind of weather, from the frost which 
breaks stubborn rock into fine soil to the 
scorching heat which ripens the corn,— no 
kind of weather that was not needed by some 
part of the wonderful world about him. And 


WITCHERY WAYS 


189 


when that happened, the young prince really 
had fine weather all the time. 

At the end of the month King Easy assem- 
bled the conrt, and in the presence of all the 
lords and ladies complimented the fourth 
candidate on his great success, and offered 
him the position of Wizard of the Weather. 

“No, your Majesty,” the young man re- 
plied. ‘ 4 1 shall be glad to become the tutor of 
the young prince, for he and I have got to 
liking each other well. But I have taught him 
how to he his own Wizard of the Weather!” 






















































































y 


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A PRAIRIE INFANTA 

By Eva Wilder Brodhead 

A clever Western story that develops in a little Colorado 
mining town. One is made to see the green, tall cottonwoods, 
the straggling mud-houses and pungent goat-corrals of its 
people, among whom lived the woman who took to her great 
heart the motherless Lola. 

The tropical brilliancy of the girl, by reason of her red frock 
and the red ribbons in her hair, excites the jealousy of the 
little Mexicans and the paler children from the mining end of 
the town, and in their disapproval they style her “ Infanta.” 
The story of the girl’s life is charmingly told, and eventually, 
her father, a man who, despite some failings, is generous and 
well-meaning, reappears in the character of a wealthy mine 
owner, and brings the story to an unlooked for and happy 
termination. 

Cloth, ornamental, illustrated, 50 cents 

WITCHERY WAYS 

By Amos R. Wells 

PICTURES BY L. J. BRIDGMAN 

Children may well be grateful to the forgotten people who, 
long ago, first invented fairy tales. Mr. Wells confesses, in 
the preface to this book, that he has a very tender regard for 
the “ Little People,” as fairies used to be called in those days, 
and now he has given us, under the title of “ Witchery Ways,” 
* some fairy tales of his own which will prove a never-ending 
delight to every reader. 

Cloth, ornamental, illustrated, 50 cents 


SONNY BOY 

By Sophie Swett 

Sonny Boy was ten years old. His name was Peter, but his 
mother thought that too large a name for a small boy. 

Aunt Kate, one of the “ right kind,” is lonesome in her new 
house without any young people, and borrows Sonny Boy for 
six months. The lad has a happy visit and many pleasant 
experiences, learning the while some helpful lessons. Delight- 
edly one reads of Otto and the white mice ; Lena and the 
parrot, the wild man of the circus, and Sonny Boy’s ambition 
to command the Poppleton Guards, but Miss Swett tells the 
story, and when that is said, nothing remains but to enjoy the 
book. 

Cloth, ornamental, handsomely illustrated, 5 ° cents 


HENRY ALTEMUS CO., PHILADELPHIA 


191 



A GOURD FIDDLE 

By Grace MacGowan Cooke 

A little colored boy, the sole orphaned remainder of a long 
line of masters of the violin, alone of the army of negroes who 
had borne the family name, is left to wait upon the old mistress 
and Miss Patrice at the “ Great House.” 

Miss Patrice teaches Orphy to sing the chants and anthems 
in the service of the little church where he was baptized, and 
with her voice new airs for his violin. Plantation songs he 
knew and rendered with a pleasing coloring. 

After the death of his teacher Orphy falls upon hard times, 
but eventually his talent is recognized by a professor of music 
who takes him to Europe, and there, under peculiar circum- 
stances, he plays on his home-made gourd fiddle before no less 
a personage than Her Majesty, Queen Victoria. 

Cloth, ornamental, handsomely illustrated, 50 cents 


BUMPER AND BABY JOHN 

By Anna Chapin Ray 

PICTURES BY CURTIS WAGER-SMITH 

An irresistibly humorous relation of the haps and mishaps 
of the homeliest, yet most dependable dog in the world, and a 
delightful red-haired and freckled child, whose united ages did 
not exceed seven years. 

But apart from the humor of the book, it is alive with 
human interest, and there is pathos as well. And this is not • 
to forget the artist in praise of the author ; the illustrations 
could not have been confided to a better hand. 

Cloth, ornamental, illustrated, 50 cents 


A LITTLE ROUGH RIDER 

By Tudor Jenks 

Author of "Galopoff, the Talking Pony,” "Gypsy, the 
Talking Dog,” etc. 

PICTURES BY REGINALD B. BIRCH 
Under the title of "A Little Rough Rider” the author tells 
the story of a little girl, who, as Senorita Finette, the eques- 
trienne, saved the fortunes of a circus during the early years of 
the gold-fever in California. Her charming feats on the back 
of her trained horse. Blanco, win fame and fortune for herself 
as well, the latter being augmented later by the discovery of 
gold on certain lands. 

Cloth, ornamental, illustrated, 50 cents 


HENRY ALTEMUS CO., PHILADELPHIA 


192 



























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